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WOMAN     IN     FRANCE 


DURING   THE 


EIGHTEENTH   CENTURY 


WOMAN   IN  FRANCE 


DURING    THE 


EIGHTEENTH    CENTURY 


BY    JULIA     KAVANAGH 

A  UTHOE     O  F      '  M  A  DELAINE  '.      A 

TALE     OF     AUVEKGNE' 

ETC.    ETC. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 


VOL.   II. 


IF  IT//  PORTKA/TS 


G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SOXS 


NEW    YORK 
-7  \V.   TWENTY-THIRD  STREET 


LONDON 
I   BEDFORD  S  I  REET,  STRAND 


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V. 


CONTENTS    OF    VOL.    II. 


PERIOD  THE  THIRD— REIGN  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


TAGE 


CHAPTER  I. 

Louis  xvi.  and  Marie  Antoinette — Their  Popularity — Ill- 
Feeling  against  the  Queen — Change  in  the  Spirit  of 
Society,        .......  3 

CHAPTER  II. 

Decline  of  the  Bureaux  d'Esprit — Marechale  de  Luxembourg 
— Madame  de  Beauharnais — Madame  Necker — Germaine 
Necker,        .......         17 

CHAPTER  III. 

Madame  de  Geiilis — The  '  Order  of  Perseverance  ' — Madame 
de  Montesson  —  Franklin  —  Death  of  Voltaire  and 
Rousseau,    .......        34 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Unpopularity  of  Marie  Antoinette  —  Favours  shown  to 
Madame  de  Polignac — Her  Society — Ill-Feeling  between 
Madame  de  Genlis  and  the  Queen,  .  .  .         48 

CHAPTER  V. 

Confused  State  of  French  Society— The  Diamond  Necklace 
— Ministers  favoured  by  the  Queen — Madame  de  Stael — 
Madame  de  Condorcet,       .....         (i- 


LH0C24 


vi  CONTENTS. 

^    PERIOD  THE  FOURTH— THE  REVOLUTION. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

The  Revolution  and  Marie  Antoinette,  .  .  .70 

CHAPTER  II. 
Marie  Antoinette  and  the  Fall  of  the  Monarchy,  .  .         93 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Engraver's  Daughter,  Madame  Roland,    .  .  .111 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Madame  Roland  and  the  Girondists,     ....       126 

CHAPTER  V. 
Charlotte  Corday,  ......       141 

CHAPTER  VI. 

.   Marie  Antoinette's  Captivity,  Trial,  and  Death,  .  .       157 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Madame  Roland  :  Her  Captivity,  Trial,  and  Death,  .  .       172 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

-^  Woman  under  the  Reign  of  Terror,      ....       186 

CHAPTER  IX. 
V-    Woman  in  the  Prisons,  .....       209 

CHAPTER  X. 

Theresa  Cabarrus — Pall  of  Robespierre — Reaction — Past  and 

Actual  State  of  Society — Madame  de  Stael— Close,  .       238 


PORTRAITS  IN  VOL.  II. 

PAGE 

Charlotte  Corday,     .  .  .  {To face  Title) 

Marie- Antoinette,  Queen  of  France,  G 

Madame  de  Stael,        ......         72 

Madame  Roland,  .  .  .  .  .174 

Madame  Tallien,         ......       239 


PERIOD    THE    THIRD. 


KEIGN  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


VOL.  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

LOUIS     XVI.     AND     MARIE    ANTOINETTE THEIR    POPULARITY 

ILL-FEELING  AGAINST  THE  QUEEN CHANGE  IN  THE  SPIRIT 

OF  SOCIETY. 

The  same  warning  voice  which  had  so  boldly  upbraided  the 
vices  of  Louis  XV.,  calling  on  the  guilty  sovereign  to  repent 
ere  the  hour  of  repentance  should  have  once  more  gone  b}', 
now  ushered  in  the  opening  reign  with  accents  of  prophetic 
woe. 

Jean  of  Beauvais,  Bishop  of  Senez,  was  enjoined  to  preach 
the  funeral  sermon  of  the  deceased  monarch,  whom  he  had  so 
unsparingly  censured  in  all  the  pomp  and  pride  of  his  kingly 
power.  The  austere  prelate  belonged  to  the  strict  and  un- 
compromising portion  of  the  French  clergy ;  he  fulfilled  his 
arduous  task  with  mournful  but  courageous  severity.  The 
aspect  of  perishable  mortality  could  not  awe  him  into  pitying 
and  treacherous  silence,  or  make  him  flatter,  with  lying  lips, 
the  many  errors  of  the  royal  dead.  He  spared  them  not  : 
openly  alluding  to  the  unpopularity  of  Louis  XV.  during  the 
hitter  years  of  his  reign,  he  uttered  this  striking  and — for  ab- 
solute sovereigns — ever-memorable  remark:  "The  people," 
said  he,  solemnly,  "  have  not  perhaps  the  right  of  complaining; 
but  theirs  is  at  least  the  right  of  remaining  silent.  Their 
silence,  then,  becomes  the  lesson  of  kings." 

Whilst  pronouncing  the  funeral  oration  of  Louis  XV,  the 
orator  seemed  to  be  also  lamenting  over  the  dark  era  of  vice 
and  philosophy ;  which,  though  born  beneath  that  monarch's 
sway,  was  not  now,  like  him,  going  down  to  the  tomb.  The 
Bishop  of  Senez  addressed  the  whole  eighteenth  century  in  a 
tone  of  gloomy  foreboding.      He  acknowledged  the  intellectual 


4  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

progress  France  had  made ;  but  he  bitterly  reproached  the 
age  for  its  impious  and  profligate  philosophy.  "  We  shall 
have  no  more  superstition,"  he  mournfully  observed,  "  because 
religion  will  be  extinct ;  no  more  false  heroism,  because  hon- 
our will  have  ceased  to  exist.  .  .  .  Behold !  ye  bold  spirits, 
the  ruin  caused  by  your  systems  !  Tremble  at  your  successes, 
and  at  a  revolution  more  fatal  than  the  heresies  which  have 
changed  the  aspect  of  several  states  around  us  :  for  there,  at 
least,  men  still  worship  and  live  virtuously.  And  shall  our 
unhappy  descendants  have  no  faith,  no  honour,  and  no  God? 
O  holy  Gallican  Church  !  0  most  Christian  kingdom  !  God 
of  our  fathers,  have  mercy  on  posterity  ! "  Few  heeded  the 
warning  of  the  too-clear-sighted  bishop,  who  lived  to  see  the 
revolution  he  had  foretold. 

Voltaire  answered  the  Bishop  of  Scnez's  attack  on  the 
eighteenth  century,  in  a  strain  of  coarse,  personal  abuse.  Pie 
accused  him  of  ingratitude,  for  having  boldly  alluded  to  the 
vices  of  Louis  XV.;  which  he,  Voltaire,  termed  love  weaknesses! 
AVith  equal  effrontery,  he  declared,  that  at  no  other  epoch  had 
there  been  seen  so  many  princesses  renowned  for  their  virtue, 
or  so  great  a  number  of  disinterested  and  noble-minded  minis- 
ters. "  Never,"  he  proceeds,  "  have  men  been  happier  and 
more  enlightened" — the  fruits  of  this  happiness  and  enlighten- 
ment became  manifest  at  the  French  Revolution — "  never  has 
society  been  more  amiable,  and  animated  by  stronger  feelings 
of  honour.  Never,  in  short,  have  belles-lettres  exercised  a 
greater  influence  over  the  manners  and  feelings  of  the  people !" 

The  tone  of  Voltaire's  answer  to  the  Bishop  of  Senez  gives 
a  correct  idea  of  the  wilful  blindness  of  the  philosophers. 
Surrounded  by  a  general  corruption,  which  they  had  aided 
and  enlisted  in  their  cause,  of  which  traces  might  be  found  in 
all  their  works,  they  had  the  guilt  and  folly  to  deny  its  very 
existence.  The  individuals  who  shared  the  gloomy  present- 
ments of  the  Bishop  of  Senez  were,  indeed,  very  few ;  the 
mass  of  the  nation  hailed  with  rapture  the  reign  of  Louis 
XVI. :  less,  however,  through  love  of  the  new  king,  than 
from  a  feeling  of  deep  hatred  for  the  memory  of  his  pre- 


LOUIS  XVI.  5 

decessor.  "  I  never  saw,"  observes  the  traveller  Swinburne, 
"joy  more  visible  than  it  appears  to  be  on  the  loss  of  this 
same  Louis  le  bien-aimeV'  Without  examining  from  what 
motive  arose  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people,  or  what  hopes 
their  accession  to  the  throne  was  doomed  to  realise  or  dis- 
appoint, the  young  sovereigns  ingenuously  rejoiced  over  their 
brief  and  unearned  popularity. 

The  king  had  then  reached  his  twentieth  year.  His 
features  were  heavy  and  commonplace,  but  of  a  mild  and 
benevolent  expression.  His  person  was  awkward  and  un- 
gainly; his  manner  timid,  hesitating,  and  abrupt.  Without 
being  mean  or  vulgar,  his  bearing  had  none  of  the  conscious 
dignity  which  becomes  the  exercise  of  royal  power.  It  was 
impossible  to  behold  him  and  not  to  feel  that  the  respect  he 
received  was  paid  to  rank  alone.  The  character  of  Louis 
XVI.  corresponded  with  his  personal  appearance  :  pious,  kind- 
hearted,  humane,  but  weak  and  timid,  his  virtues  were  of 
those  which  secure  affection  and  esteem,  whilst  they  ever  fail 
to  command  admiration.  His  intellect  neither  rose  above  nor 
sank  beneath  average  excellence.  He  was,  however,  one  of 
the  best  geographers  in  his  kingdom,  and  drew  up,  with  his 
own  hand,  the  instructions  for  the  expedition  of  the  ill-fated 
La  Perouse  ;  who  attributed  them  to  members  of  the  Academy 
of  Sciences,  and  was  greatly  astonished  to  learn  that  they 
emanated  from  the  king.  His  chief  pleasures  were  hunting 
and  smithwork,  in  which  he  excelled ;  his  tastes  and  feelings 
were  essentially  simple  and  homely  :  everywhere,  save  on  a 
throne,  he  would  have  been  happy  and  respected  ;  but  with  all 
the  virtues  of  a  private  man,  he  had  none  of  those  that  a 
monarch  should  possess.  The  keen,  unerring  sense  that  reads 
through  men  and  men's  motives,  the  skill  to  avoid  needless 
danger,  the  daring  to  brave  it,  the  power  and  energy  that  fit  a 
man  for  strife  and  victory,  were  all  wanting  in  Louis  XVI. 
Weak  and  resistless  between  his  friends  and  his  enemies, 
always  influenced  by  the  last  speaker,  he  never  knew  how  to 
cany  out  the  plans  for  reform  with  which  he  opened  his 
reign.     Of  all  the  high  qualities  a  king  should  own,  he  had 


(5  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

but  one  :  the  patient  and  almost  sublime  endurance  of  irre- 
mediable misfortunes. 

The  feelings  generally  inspired  by  Louis  XVI.,  at  the 
epoch  of  his  accession  to  the  throne,  were  esteem  and  hope  : 
these  feelings  rose  into  enthusiasm  when  he  appeared  in 
public  with  his  young  and  lovely  wife.  From  her  first 
entrance  into  the  country  over  which  she  was  destined  to 
reign,  Marie  Antoinette  had  excited,  by  her  grace  and  beauty, 
a  universal  sentiment  of  admiration.  When  the  chivalrous 
Duke  of  Brissac,  then  governor  of  Paris,  received  the  young 
dauphiness  in  his  official  rank,  his  sole  harangue  was  the 
gallant  assurance  that,  in  the  crowd  around  her,  she  had 
already  made  the  conquest  of  two  hundred  thousand  lovers. 
"  Ah  !  the  good  people  ! "  both  she  and  the  dauphin  artlessly 
exclaimed,  as  they  saw  themselves  surrounded  in  the  Tuilcries 
by  a  respectful  and  loving  multitude.  Though  the  dauphin- 
ess was  then  little  more  than  fifteen,  she  displayed  a  singular 
degree  of  tact  and  address.  On  returning  from  Paris  to 
Versailles,  she  said  to  her  father-in-law  : — "  Oh !  we  have 
been  so  kindly  received  !  ITow  much  you  must  be  loved  ! " 
Thus  delicately  attributing  to  the  affection  felt  for  the  king 
the  sudden  popularity,  of  which  he  might  otherwise  have 
shewn  himself  jealous.  On  the  evening  of  her  arrival,  she 
supped  with  the  princes,  and  several  court  ladies,  among 
whom  was  Madame  du  Parry.  Louis  XV.  unblushingly 
introduced  the  profligate  courtesan  to  his  daughter-in-law. 
The  youthful  Marie  Antoinette  deeply  resented  this  indignity  ; 
but,  not  wishing  to  testify  her  anger  too  openly,  she  merely 
asked  what  was  the  beautiful  Madame  du  Barry's  office  at 
court.  "  To  please  and  amuse  the  king,"  was  the  courtier-like 
and  ambiguous  reply.  "  Then  I  shall  become  her  rival," 
answered  the  dauphiness,  with  a  smile. 

Marie  Antoinette  was  in  her  nineteenth  year  at  the  death 
of  Louis  XV.  Years  had  ripened  her  loveliness,  which  had 
still  all  the  bloom  and  freshness  of  youth.  Graceful  and  gay, 
even  more  than  strictly  beautiful,  she.  exercised,  on  all  those 
who  approached  her,  a  deep  and  irresistible  fascination.     To 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  7 

the  golden  hair,  the  dazzling  fairness,  and  the  brilliant  com- 
plexion of  a  northern  beauty,  she  united  all  the  grace  and 
animation  of  the  south.  Her  oval  and  expressive  countenance 
was  rendered  remarkably  characteristic  by  the  high,  clear 
forehead,  delicately-formed  aquiline  nose,  and  full  Austrian 
lip,  hereditary  in  her  race.  The  admiration  her  personal 
attractions  called  forth  was,  however,  always  tempered  by  the 
homage  due  to  her  rank.  The  penetrating  glance  of  her  fine 
blue  eyes,  the  mingled  pride  and  sweetness  of  her  smile,  and 
the  striking  elegance  and  dignity  of  her  carriage,  whilst  they 
added  to  the  loveliness  of  the  woman,  never  allowed  the 
beholder  to  forget  the  queen.  Marie  Antoinette  had  been 
educated  for  the  express  purpose  of  appearing  with  the  ut- 
most advantage  at  the  court  of  France.  She  readily  acquired 
all  the  tact  and  frivolous  grace  necessary  to  a  princess  who  was 
destined  to  reign  over  the  most  polished  and  fastidious  nation 
of  Europe,  and  to  mingle  with  women  of  unrivalled  taste  and 
elegance.  But,  further  than  this,  the  teaching  she  received 
did  not,  unfortunately,  extend.  In  every  external  matter,  she 
was  perfectly  accomplished;  she  failed  in  those  essential 
points  which  it  is  the  duty  of  true  education  to  develop.  To  a 
prompt,  unreflecting  mind,  a  frivolous  and  haughty  temper, 
she  united  a  nature  full  of  rash  but  noble  impulses.  Though 
Bhe  appeared  to  have  inherited  all  the  determination  of  her 
mother,  Maria  Theresa,  she  wanted  the  sagacity  and  courage- 
ous calmness  which  distinguished  the  empress-queen.  Ardent, 
generous,  and  imprudent,  Marie  Antoinette  seemed  destined 
to  dazzle  for  a  moment  the  court  over  which  she  doubly 
reigned,  as  woman  and  as  queen;  to  share  and  embitter  her 
husband's  fatal  destiny;  and  to  shed  around  the  story  of  his 
reign  the  melancholy  charm  of  her  beauty,  heroism,  and  mis- 
fortunes. 

No  signs  of  this  gloomy  future  were  yet  visible.  The 
horizon  was  one  of  unclouded  serenity.  None  of  those  who 
crowded  around  the  loved  and  admired  queen  of  France  could 
foresee  the  dark  prison-house  that  was  to  replace  her  brilliant 
court,  or  tlic  scaffold  which   closed   her  brief  and  sad  career. 


8  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

But,  even  at  that  epoch  of  universal  hope  and  joy,  many  were 
those  who  beheld,  with   secret   disaffection,  the  daughter  of 
Maria  Theresa  seated  on  the  throne  of  France.     Froai  the 
opening  of  her  reign,  a  party,  inimical  to  the  young  queen 
and  the  Austrian  alliance,  watched  with  hostile  glance  every 
imprudence  of  Marie  Antoinette.     It  has  been  mentioned,  in 
the  preceding  pages,  that  Choiseul,  in  order  to  preserve  him- 
self in  his  position  of   prime   minister,   after  the  death  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  had  married  the  dauphin  to  a  princess 
of  Austria.     This  union  was,  at  the  time,  viewed  with  dis- 
pleasure by  the  greatest  portion  of  the  nation.     France  had 
been  for  too  many  centuries  at  war  with  Austria,  and  the 
alliance    concluded   with   that    power    through    Madame   de 
Pompadour  was  too  thoroughly  hateful  for  the  marriage  of 
the  heir  to  the  crown  with  Marie  Antoinette  not  to  be  gene- 
rally viewed  with  disfavour.     The  superstitiously-inclined  did 
not  fail  to  notice  the  many  fatal  omens  which  had  ushered  in 
this  unhappy  union.     A  mysterious  and  melancholy  fate  had, 
they  said,  been  predicted,  during  her  youth,  to  the  favourite 
daughter  of    Maria  Theresa.      She   left  Vienna   amidst  the 
mourning  of  the  whole  people,  and  images  of  grief  and  horror 
greeted  her  on  her  arrival  in  France.    The  pavilion  prepared  for 
her  at  Strasburg  was  hung  with  tapestries  representing  Medea 
still  covered  with  the  blood  of  her  children,  and  the  hapless 
Creusa  writhing  in  the  agonies  of  death.     A  terrific  storm 
burst  forth  on  her  marriage  day ;  and  the  splendid  fireworks 
given  on  the  Place  Louis  XV.,  in  honour  of  her  nuptials  with 
the  dauphin,  cost  the  lives  of  several  hundred  persons,  who 
perished  on  the  same  fatal  spot  where   both  she  and   her 
husband  were  afterwards  to  suffer.     Marie  Antoinette  prob- 
ably thought  little  of  these   incidents  :    so   far,  at  least,  as 
their  relation  to  the  future  was  concerned  ;  but  there  were 
others  who  treasured  up  these  circumstances  in  their  hearts, 
and  dwelt  upon  them  with  superstitious  dread. 

Apart  even  from  the  prejudice  her  Austrian  birth  raised 
against  her,  the  young  dauphiness  was  so  unfortunate,  on  her 
arrival  in  France,  as  to  make  numerous  enemies,  on  a  ridicu- 


ILL-FEELING  AGAINST  THE  QUEEN.  f) 

lous  point  of  etiquette.  Maria  Theresa  had  requested  of 
Louis  XV,  that  her  daughter's  cousin,  Mademoiselle  de 
Lorraine,  might  dance  a  minuet  at  the  marriage-ball,  imme- 
diately after  the  princes  and  princesses  of  the  royal  family. 
The  French  duchesses  opposed  this  in  the  most  vehement 
manner,  declaring  that  they  recognised  no  intervening  rank 
between  themselves  and  the  princes  of  the  blood,  and  that  if 
Mademoiselle  de  Lorraine  were  allowed  to  dance  her  minuet, 
to  the  detriment  of  their  privileges,  all  the  court  ladies  would 
abstain  from  appearing  at  the  ball  Louis  XV.  vainly  asked 
them,  as  a  personal  favour,  to  waive  their  right  for  once  : 
they  inexorably  refused.  The  dauphiness  was  greatly  of- 
fended at  their  obstinacy.  Having  procured  one  of  the  letters 
which  Louis  XV.  had  addressed  on  this  subject  to  his  rebel- 
Hous  aristocracy,  she  put  it  away  carefully,  and  wrote  on  the 
margin,  "  Je  m'en  souviendrai." 

From  this  apparently  trifling  matter  sprang  that  vague 
and  mutual  feeling  of  mistrust  which  always  existed  between 
Marie  Antoinette  and  the  high  court  nobility.  This  feeling 
was  increased  by  the  resentment  the  queen  felt  for  the  com- 
parative neglect  with  which  she  had  been  treated  until  her 
husband's  accession  to  the  throne. 

Madame  du  Barry  was  all  powerful  during  the  latter  years 
of  Louis  XV.'s  reign.  Whilst  she  was  surrounded  by  assiduous 
courtiers,  the  proud  young  dauphiness  was  scarcely  allowed  to 
share  that  general  influence  of  which  women  are  often  more 
jealous  than  of  the  substantial  realities  of  power.  An  unac- 
knowledged struggle  was  incessantly  carried  on  between  the 
dauphin's  wife  and  the  king's  mistress.  Madame  du  Barry 
protected  the  retrograde  party,  and  Marie  Antoinette  gave 
what  little  power  she  possessed  to  the  Duke  of  Choiseul  and 
the  philosophers  :  the  veiy  men  whose  imprudence  was  pre- 
paring the  llevolution. 

Although  she  was  too  haughty  to  shew  how  deeply  the 
slights  of  the  courtiers  had  wounded  her,  Marie  Antoinette 
never  forgot  them ;  and  perhaps  manifested  her  resentment 
and  contempt  too  openly,  when   she  received,  as  queen  of 


10  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

France,  the  homage  hitherto  paid  to  Madame  du  Barry.  This 
conduct  did  not  tend  to  pacify  the  anti-Austrian  party,  who 
soon  began  to  spread  rumours  injurious  to  the  young  sove- 
reign. Her  light-heartedness  and  love  of  pleasure  were  insidi- 
ously construed  into  a  tendency  to  satire,  and  a  wish  for  guilty 
and  forbidden  amusements.  One  of  the  most  innocent  errors 
of  Marie  Antoinette — her  disregard  of  etiquette — proved,  how- 
ever, very  fatal.  The  ancient  customs  of  the  land  fettered  the 
sovereigns  with  numerous  and  tedious  usages,  which  had  the 
advantage  of  not  allowing  a  shadow  of  reproach  to  rest  on  the 
name  of  the  monarch's  spouse.  It  was  felt  that,  like  Caesar's 
wife,  she  should  not  even  be  suspected.  Confiding  and  inex- 
perienced, the  queen,  who  disliked  restraint,  hastened  to  free 
herself  from  the  constant  surveillance  exercised  upon  her  by 
her  titled  attendants.  She  thus  merely  complied  with  the  in- 
dependent spirit  of  the  age;  but  this  freedom  of  conduct 
subjected  her  to  grievous  misinterpretations.  A  queen  who 
could  walk  out  without  hoops,  and  who,  in  her  retreat  of 
Trianon,  actually  requested  all  the  guests  to  be  seated  in  her 
presence,  was  indignantly  pronounced — by  the  virtuous  do wa- 
gers  of  the  court  of  Louis  XV. — capable  of  any  impropriety. 
It  is  a  fact  beyond  doubt,  that  the  infamous  calumnies  against 
the  queen,  and  of  which  the  traces  are  not  yet  wholly  effaced 
in  France,  first  originated  amongst  the  nobility. 

"With  the  recklessness  which  always  characterised  her,  Marie 
Antoinette  did  little  to  conciliate  the  nobles  of  her  court.  She 
had  not  forgotten  their  subserviency  to  Madame  du  Barry,  or 
their  conduct  towards  Mademoiselle  de  Lorraine  at  the  epoch 
of  her  marriage  ;  and  she  both  laughed  at  and  despised  their 
aristocratic  pretensions:  well  knowing  that  scarcely  even  one 
amongst  the  highest  families  was  free  from  the  stain  of  some 
financial  mesalliance.  This  latter  consideration  induced  the 
queen  not  to  consult  merely  high  birth  in  the  gift  of  those 
places  and  favours  which  were  at  her  disposal,  but  to  be 
guided  chiefly  by  her  own  personal  feelings  and  affections. 
The  greal  families,  who  looked  on  all  the  posts  at  court  as 
theirs  by  right,  were  profoundly  irritated  to  see  them  bestowed 


TLL-FEELING  AGAINST  THE  QUEEN.  11 

on  those  persons  whom  the  queen's  friendship  had  alone  raised 
from  obscurit}'.  Marie  Antoinette  cared  little  for  their  discon- 
tent ;  policy  was  never  her  favourite  virtue  :  she  did  not  see 
the  necessity  of  sacrificing  her  own  inclinations  to  those  whom 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  consider  as  mere  dependants  on 
royalty ;  and  she  was  still  less  disposed  to  fetter  her  freedom 
with  the  dull  and  wearisome  routine  of  etiquette. 

Her  tastes  were  naturally  simple  :  a  solitary  walk  in  the 
wild  and  shady  gardens  of  her  favourite  Trianon  delighted  her 
more  than  all  the  stately  magnificence  of  Versailles,  with  its 
terraces,  broad  avenues,  and  sculptured  marble  fountains. 
Marie  Antoinette  often  displayed  the  natural  kindness  of  her 
heart  in  these  lonely  promenades.  None  ever  implored  her 
pity  in  vain  :  she  indiscriminately  relieved  the  wretched  beings 
who  sought  her  assistance.  Her  benevolence  had  all  the  sin- 
cerity and  indiscretion  of  youth.  Although  these  morning 
excursions  were  perfectly  innocent,  the  queen  trusted  too 
exclusively  to  the  love  and  esteem  of  the  people  as  her  safe- 
guard against  calumny.  Her  generous  nature  deceived  her 
with  respect  to  the  real  worth  of  popularity.  Heedless  of  the 
future,  she  welcomed  royalty  as  a  glorious  vision,  fraught  with 
happiness  and  joy.  Time  alone  shewed  her  that  even  the 
bright  diadem  she  wore  might  in  the  end  become  a  sharp  and 
heavy  crown  of  thorns. 

The  example  of  the  queen,  though  generally  reproved,  was 
almost  universally  followed.  The  fashions  daily  became  more 
simple,  and  less  of  the  old  ostentatious  formality  marked  social 
intercourse.  Since  the  death  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  rigid  etiquette 
of  former  times  had  gradually  decreased.  Nothing  was  so 
calculated  to  banish  it  entirely  as  the  growing  importance 
given  to  assemblies  :  it  is  when  men  meet  seldom  that  a  feel- 
ing of  jealous  restraint  marks  their  intercourse.  As  the  eigh- 
teenth century  progressed  and  drew  to  a  close,  that  ardent 
desire  of  equality  and  freedom,  which  ultimately  broke  forth  in 
a  sanguinary  revolution,  induced  those  persons  who  then  com- 
posed good  society  to  indulge  in  all  the  liberty  consistent  with 
their  habits.     Although  a  great  degree  of  independence  already 


12  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

prevailed,  yet,  in  order  to  render  it  more  extensive  still,  the  mis- 
tresses of  the  most  fashionable  houses  of  Paris  disposed  their 
drawing-rooms  as  cafes,  with  separate  tables,  refreshments, 
cards,  and  newspapers,  for  the  convenience  of  the  guests  ;  who 
were  almost  as  free  from  restraint  as  if  they  had  really  been  in 
a  place  of  public  resort.  When  the  queen  admitted  men  at 
her  table — an  innovation  till  then  unheard  of — the  etiquette 
of  ordinary  life  naturally  relaxed  its  severity.  A  more  moral 
and  democratic  tone  seemed  to  pervade  every  class  of  society ; 
individual  merit  openly  took  its  legitimate  rank ;  the  bour- 
geoisie adopted  a  more  confidant  bearing,  and  the  nobles  a 
tone  of  greater  complaisance  :  the  barriers  of  prejudice  and 
station  daily  yielded  to  the  increasing  desire  of  equality. 

Though  Louis  XVI.  did  not  at  first  feel  for  the  queen  that 
passionate  attachment  with  which  she  afterwards  inspired  him, 
his  moral  and  religious  feelings  inclined  him  towards  a  calm 
domestic  life ;  of  which  he  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to  give 
the  first  example.  Whilst  the  court  was  still  in  mourning 
for  his  grandfather,  the  king,  who  could  not  then  indulge  in 
hunting,  took  long  matrimonial  walks  with  the  queen,  in  those 
gardens  of  Choisy  where  Louis  XV.  had  formerly  attended 
the  beautiful  Madame  de  Chateauroux.  On  the  day  following 
the  first  of  these  promenades,  several  worthy  couples,  little 
remarkable  for  conjugal  affection,  took  pattern  of  the  royal 
pair,  and  had  the  courage  to  walk  arm-in-arm  together  for 
several  hours.  This  was  considered  a  heroic  instance  of  the 
power  of  flattery.  Though  decency  is  not  virtue,  it  has  still 
some  value.  If  the  court  of  Louis  XVI.  was  not  in  reality 
more  moral  than  that  of  his  predecessor,  it  was  by  far  more 
respectable  and  decorous.  The  novels  of  Voisenon  and  Cre- 
billon  were  no  longer  read  openly,  and  even  the  name  of 
Voltaire  could  not  shield  from  blame  the  licentiousness  of 
some  of  his  productions. 

The  reign  of  Marie  Antoinette  and  Louis  XVI.  may  thus 
be  said  to  have  ushered  in  a  remarkable  change  in  the  history 
of  French  social  life.  Previously  to  the  death  of  Louis  XV. 
the  spirit  of  philosophy  had  already  undergone  some  modi- 


CHANGE  IN  THE  SPIRIT  OP  SOCIETY. 

fieations.  After  being  gross  and  licentious  under  the  regency, 
exact,  ironical,  and  reasoning,  in  the  middle  of  the  century,  it 
now  assumed  a  sentimental  and  levelling  tendency,  which 
contrasted  with  the  sensual  and  aristocratic  doctrines  of  Vol- 
taire. The  aspect  which  society  presented  was  in  accordance 
with  the  spirit  of  the  authors  in  fashion.  The  enthusiastic 
Rousseau,  the  grave  and  domestic  Richardson,  the  sentimental' 
Sterne,  the  pastoral  Gessner,  his  disciple,  Florian,  St  Pierre, 
the  author  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  had  replaced  the  cold 
sceptics  of  preceding  years.  Philosophy  now  assumed  a 
wholly  different  tendency.  Vague  desires  for  the  general 
progress  of  humanity,  undefined  aspirations  towards  excel- 
lence, and  exaggerated  manifestations  of  feeling  (which  were 
ironically  stigmatised  by  the  name  of  sensiblerie)  began  to 
characterise  French  society. 

In  the  environs  of  Paris,  and  in  several  of  the  provinces, 
moral  festivals  were  established.  Prizes  were  given  to  the 
most  exemplary  young  girls,  to  pious  children,  and  to  kind 
mothers. — A  prize  for  maternal  kindness  !  Good  actions  and 
useful  labours  were  also  rewarded.  In  one  place  La  Fete  des 
Bonnes  Gens  was  enthusiastically  celebrated.  In  another, 
La  Fete  des  Bonnes  Mceurs  (pure  morals  !)  was  held  with 
much  applause. 

Such  festivals  and  ceremonies  might,  perhaps,  have  been 
natural^andj^pprupxiate.in  a.  pur<?  and  primitive-soclal^slaifi.; 
though  it  is  likely  that  in  such  a  state  they  would  not  have 
been  thought  of ;  but  in  France,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  in 
the  very  centre  of  a  corrupt  and  decaying  world,  they  were 
only  hollow  vanities — a  mere  philosophical  varnish,  too  trans- 
parent to  hide  the  foul  corruption  which  lay  beneath  this  fair 
seeming  of  virtue.  This  affectation  of  external  show,  so  well 
named  "  emphase  philosophique,"  was  essentially  opposed  to 
the  pure  internal  morality  of  Christianity.  In  this  distinction 
between  meretricious  ornaments  and  austere  beauty  lay  the 
difference  of  the  two  systems. 

Madame  Riccoboni,  a  clever  authoress  of  the  period,  de- 
tected, with  her  usual  tact,  the  ridiculous  aspect  of  this  new 


14  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

mania.  "  What !"  she  petulantly  observed,  "  cannot  an  author 
now  write  ten  lines  without  exclaiming,  '  0  goodness !'  '  O 
benevolence  !'  '  O  humanity  !'  'O  virtue  !'"  There  was,  un- 
fortunately, too  much  of  the  specious  morality  of  Rousseau 
in  this  display  of  refined  and  elevated  feeling.  Because  men 
spoke  with  rapturous  enthusiasm  of  virtues  they  never  prac- 
tised, they  thought  themselves  virtuous.  Dissipated  and 
ambitious  women  gravely  discussed  the  charms  of  a  calm, 
retired  life,  and  dwelt  with  emphasis  on  the  pure  pleasures  of 
platonic  love.  But  even  in  this  exaggerated  philanthropy 
there  was  much  that  was  good  and  true.  The  doctrines  of 
love  and  equality  on  which  it  rested  were  derived  from 
Christianity ;  and,  although  the  philosophers  marred  their 
beautiful  and  primitive  simplicity  by  an  inflated  and  declama- 
tory enthusiasm,  they  could  not  destroy  the  serene  loveliness 
of  the  divine  original.  This  "  scnsiblerie,"  however  ridiculous 
it  may  have  been,  was  only  the  weak  side  of  a  very  important 
change  in  the  feelings  and  opinions  of  the  French  people. 
According  to  another  observation  of  the  keen-sighted  Madame 
Riccoboni,  depth  had  now  become  the  folly  of  a  nation  once 
celebrated  for  its  graceful  frivolousness.  The  example  of 
England  had  greatly  contributed  to  this  change.  Both  men 
and  women  began  to  ask  themselves  if  there  were  no  higher 
object  in  life  than  mere  pleasure.  Court  intrigues,  and  the 
adventures  of  profligate  nobles,  no  longer  engrossed  exclusively 
every  conversation.  The  declamations  of  Rousseau,  and  the 
pastorals  of  Florian,  gave  fashionable  people  a  taste  for  the 
country,  which  displayed  itself  in  imitations  of  English  cot- 
tage life,  and  in  such  fanciful  "  bergeries"  as  that  of  Tria- 
non, where  Marie  Antoinette,  her  husband,  and  a  few  chosen 
friends,  assumed  the  character  of  peasants,  and  endeavoured 
to  feel  as  happy  as  the  humble  beings  they  represented. 

Florian  was  popular,  but  the  favourite  writer  of  this  epoch 
appears  to  have  been  the  novelist  Richardson  :  "That  sublime 
genius/'  as  Diderot  enthusiastically  called  him.  When  ques- 
tioned once  concerning  his  own  affairs,  the  French  philosopher 
coidd   only  answer  by  broken  exclamations  of,   "  0  Pamela ! 


CHANGE  IN  THE  SPIRIT  OF  SOCIETY.  15 

O  Clarissa  !  My  friends  !  0  Richardson  !"  This  spirit  was 
carried  by  the  women  to  an  extravagant  height.  Madame  de 
Tesse,  on  being  shewn  by  Richardson's  son-in-law  the  grave  of 
her  favourite  author,  in  Saint  Bride's  church,  knelt  down  on 
the  hallowed  spot,  and  there  shed  such  an  abundance  of  tears, 
that  her  guide  thought  she  must  certainly  faint  away  from 
excess  of  emotion.  The  sober  citizen  was  no  little  alarmed  at 
her  extraordinary  behaviour,  and  henceforth  shewed  himself 
somewhat  reluctant  to  exhibit  the  tomb  of  his  deceased 
relative  to  French  ladies  of  such  exquisite  feelings.  The 
fashionable  foibles  naturally  took  the  tone  of  this  extreme 
sensitiveness.  Geometry  and  bel  esprit  were  almost  out  of 
date.  Ladies  were  now  afflicted  with  mysterious  diseases 
springing  from  the  delicacy  of  their  nature.  Vapours,  and 
fainting  fits  returning  at  stated  periods,  became  the  prevalent 
complaints,  whilst  plays  of  the  most  tender  and  lachrymose 
cast  had  alone  the  power  of  pleasing  the  public. 

A  republican  feeling  accompanied,  however,  this  philan- 
thropic reaction.  The  fashions  took  a  Grecian  aspect,  and 
antiquity  was  now  less  studied  for  its  literary  resources  than 
for  its  political  characteristics.  Art  fashioned  itself  according 
to  the  prevailing  mood.  The  days  when  Watteau  and  Boucher 
interpreted  the  poetry  of  Chaulieu,  Bernis,  and  Gentil  Bernard 
by  voluptuous  paintings,  were  past.  Greuze  now  painted 
pictures  in  the  style  of  La  Chaussee's  plaintive  comedies, 
whilst  the  academical  vein  prepared  the  young  David  to  be 
the  painter  of  the  Revolution.  This  admiration  of  republican 
principles  was  first  professed  by  the  nobles.  It  was  they  who 
applauded  in  the  palace  of  Versailles  the  "  Brutus"  of  Voltaire, 
acted  in  the  presence  and  by  the  commend  of  royalty.  These 
two  lines, 

"  Je  suifl  fils  do  llratus,  et  jo  porto  en  mon  coeur 
La  liberfcu  gravce,  ct  les  rois  en  liorreur," 

were  received  with  enthusiastic  acclamations.  The  imprudent 
and  inconsistent  admirers  of  republican  freedom  were  the 
same  nobles  who,  after  aiding  and  encouraging  the  Revolution, 


16 


WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 


turned  from  it  as  soon  as  it  seemed  likely  to  injure  their 
privileges  ;  and  who,  under  the  name  ef  emigres,  armed  all 
Europe  against  a  republic  which  partly  owed  its  existence  to 
their  efforts. 

In  this,  howrever,  as  well  as  in  many  other  points,  the 
nobles  are  scarcely  to  be  considered  free  agents.  Carried 
down  the  tide  of  opinion  by  the  irresistible  impulse  of  their 
age,  they  never  rightly  understood  the  stern  task  they  were 
fated  to  accomplish.  It  is  seldom  that  the  ideas  destined  to 
benefit  the  people  are  first  called  forth,  or  even  propagated,  by 

them.    JThft  philosophy  nf    the    pight.ppnfrh    rpvitnry  win  pgspn- 

tially  aristocraricjnjis-origm: — Sj^n_jmnces  to  noUe^from 
nobles  to  financiers,  from  these  to  bourgeois,  and  from  TH^ 
bourgeoisie  to~the  people,  the  new  doctrines  skowlyde§c£ndfi.d 

ring  of  nil. 


widening' 

O 


TJTcles,  until  thjTTnst  broad 


emv 

braced  the  whole  nation.     And  then,  but  not _tJlLthefrrdtd-- 
tiiougTits  shape  themsJIvesi_nto  deeds. 

ThTs~grad uat^Iescent  wras  very  visible  :  it  ought  to  have 
been  equally  significant.  A  traveller  returned  to  France  un- 
der the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.,  after  having  been  several  years 
away  :  he  was  asked  what  change  he  found  in  Paris  since  his 
former  stay, — "  Nothing,"  answered  he,  "  save  that  they  are 
now  saying  in  the  streets  what  was  formerly  said  in  the  draw- 
ing-rooms." 

Tlietraveller  was  right:  "philosophy"  ha,d  gone,  dj^wntn 
the  peoglej^lt  nad  shattered  moral  and  religious  feelings,  in 


the  minds  of  those  whom  such  feelings  alone  coukJ^Sfider 
patient  under  the_weigh"t  of  their  misery.  InJa_deep  and 
thrilling  voice  it  had  told  the  injured  of  their  rights  as  men  : 
irhiiZPrprr"nrlr''1  them  of  their  many  galling  wrongs.  Habit 
still  made  them  suffer  in  silence,  but  the  seed  of  future  ven- 
geance was  sown. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DECLINE  OF  THE  BUREAUX  d'eSPRIT  —  MARECHALE  DE 
LUXEMBOURG  —  MADAME  DE  BEAUHARNAIS  —  MADAME 
NECKER — GERMAINE   NECKER. 

The  remarkable  change  indicated  in  the  preceding  chapter  as 
having  taken  place  in  French  society  had  not  yet  caused  it  to 
Forego  its^xquisitely-polished  elegance.  The  rule  of  woman 
oveF^KS^artificial  Tvorhi__wns;  hnw^ypr,  now  passing  rapidly 

away.     * 

^Madame  Geoffrin  and _Majjemoiselle  de  Lespinasse  died  in 
the  earEeFportion  of  the  reign  of  LouisXVL,  and  no  ladies 
of  equal  tact  or  talent  werejquud  t,o  Rp.izp,  on  the  power  they 
thus  left  vacant.  Old,  blind,  ill-tempered  Madame  du  Deffand 
still  remained ;  but  sne7  alas1,  now  uttered  many  "querulous 
complaints  concerning  neglect  and  ingratitude  of  friends,  who 
"nTT  ahandonedher  in  her^old^age.  "Sent  double  with  yeais, 
her  quick  intellect  unimpaired,  her  memory  still  stored  with 
tales  of  the  regency,  and  many  a  scandalous  anecdote  of  the 
days  of  Louis  XV.,  she  stood  amid  the  new  generation,  sight- 
less and  alone,  a  withered  relic  of  the  past.  How  strangely 
must  she — so  frankly  selfish  and  inexorably  real — have  won- 
dered at  all  the  strains  of  high-flown  sentiment  and  lofty 
philanthropy  which  suddenly  broke  forth  upon  her  ear!  Well 
irughTTshe  also  feel  chagrined  to  note  how  her  own  caustic  wit, 
though  still  keen  and  brilliant  as  ever,  had  lost  its  wonted 
power  to  dazzle  and  attract.  JPoor  woman  !  she  had  outlived 
her  day.  __  Light,  epicurean  philosophy,  satirical  wit,  late  sup- 
pers and  good  cheer,  had  vanished  before  fine  feeling,  pastoral 
lore,  and  primitive  simplicity  of  manners.  Suppers  were 
almost  immoral,  now  that  the  golden  age  was  to  return, 
VOL.  II.  l  B 


is 


WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 


brought  back  to  earth  by  the  "  contrat  social,"  and  that  poor 
suffering  humanity  was  to  be  regenerated  without  toil  or  woe. 
Like  all  those  who  resorted  to  Paris  for  amusement,  Wal- 
pole  noticed  this  alteration  with  evident  displeasure.  "  They 
may  be  growing  wiser,"  he  pettishly  observes,  "  but  the  inter- 
mediate change  is  dulness."  The  era  for  bureaux  d'esprit 
was,  however,  gone  beyond  recall.  Philosophy,  indeed,  no 
longer  sought  the  aid  of  their  fostering  care  ;  it  did  not  even 
need  them  as  those  central  points  whence  it  formerly  dissemi- 
nated its  doctrines  far  and  wide.  The  whole  spirit  of  the 
nation  had  become  philanophu;  .  v.w.vy  di,rvingri7"m  wni  now 
a  fit  arena.  It  thus  happened  that  jwhen  the  threegrcat 
bureaux  d'esprit  had  ceased  toexist.  no  effort  was  made  to, 
replace  them!  That  such  assejjihligs  would  be  as  needless 
tfrei 


now  as  luuy  Tia< 
aimouL  by  inlTTffiom 


ormerly  been  useful,   seemed  to  be  felt 


New  wants,  new  reelings  had  arisen. 


L^ke  many  prouder  institutions,  as  soon  as  their  appointed 
task  of  goodor  evil  was  fulfilled,  the  bureaux  d'esprit  were 
Torgotten  ;  and  their  sentimental  successors  now  RpnVg  nf 
them  as  slightingly  as  they  had  probably  spoken  of  the  soirees. 
ofthe  Hotel  llambouiHet  and  the  ruelles  *  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 
~~ The  passion  for  sentiment  and 


"  bergerie" 


.indeed, 


carried  to  strange  lengths 


The  Duchess  "of  Mazarinr  a  fair 
and  florid  dame,  more  remarkat 


le  lor  good  temper  than  for 
tact  or  wFETllklulged  her  pastoral  tendencies  Lu  an  extravagant" 
degree.  She  once  resolved  to  give,  in  the  heart  of  winter,  a 
fete  that  should  eclipse  everything  of  the  kind  yet  known. 
She  fitted  up  her  vast  saloon  in  a  style  of  extraordinary 
splendour,  with  wide  looking-glasses  that  reached  from  the 
floor  to  the  ceiling.  At  the  further  extremity  of  the  apart- 
ment, a  wide  recess,  separated  from  it  by  a  glass  casement, 

*  The  prScieuses  of  the  seventeenth  century  generally  received  their 
morning  visitors  before  they  had  risen.  Their  guests  were  thus  invited 
to  take  seats  in  the  ruelle,  or  space  extending  between  the  bed-side  and 
the  wall,  and  which  was  sufficiently  wide  to  accommodate  several  persons. 
From  this  circumstance  a  morning  conversazione  became  known  under 
(he  name  of  ruelle. 


A  PASTOEAL  FETE.  19 

was  beautifully  decorated  with  shrubs  and  flowers  so  as  to 
represent  a  lonely  bower.  Along  a  winding  path,  a  pretty 
actress  from  the  opera,  attired  as  a  shepherdess,  was  to  appear, 
with  dog  and  crook,  leading  a  flock  of  snowy  sheep,  to  the 
sound  of  soft,  pastoral  melody.  The  light  of  the  lamps,  and 
the  surrounding  draperies,  had  been  judiciously  disposed  so  as 
to  heighten  the  effect  of  this  little  scene,  with  which  the 
dancers  were  to  be  suddenly  surprised  at  the  most  interesting 
moment  of  the  ball.  The  poor  Duchess  of  Mazarin  was  all 
impatience  until  that  auspicious  moment  should  arrive ;  but 
before  she  coidd  give  the  signal  that  was  to  summon  the 
shepherdess  and  her  flock,  a  most  unfortunate  accident  oc- 
curred. The  sheep  suddenly  broke  forth  from  their  place  of 
confinement,  and  burst  through  the  glass  casement  into  the 
ball-room.  Panic-struck  with  the  novel  sight,  and  especially 
with  the  glare  of  innumerable  lights,  reflected  in  the  large 
mirrors,  they  rushed  in  every  direction,  knocked  down  dancers, 
trampled  furiously  over  them,  and  attacked  all  the  looking- 
glasses  with  desperate  energy.  Ladies  screamed  and  fainted 
away  ;  whilst  the  disconsolate  Duchess  of  Mazarin  looked  on 
the  whole  scene  of  havoc  and  confusion  with  unutterable 
chagrin. 

This  untoward  incident  amused  Paris  for  a  whole  week, 
but  cured  no  one  of  pastoral  longings.  It  was  discussed  with 
little  mercy  in  the  circle  of  the  old  Marcchale  de  Luxembourg, 
the  friend  of  Madame  du  Deffand — like  her,  the  sceptical 
derider  of  affected  feeling,  and,  though  opposed  to  the  pre- 
vailing whim,  one  of  the  reigning  oracles  of  wit  and  bon  ton. 
If  social  academies  had  lost  thpi'r  onre  extensive  power,  the 
influence  of  woman  was  still  widely  felt  in  all  matters  con- 
"Ylectecl  with  politeness  and  good-breeding — matters  of  which 
she  was,  indeed,  the  sole  acknowlcdged_Judge.  From  this 
source  sprang  the  power  of  the  Marcchale,  a  very  agreeable 
old  woman,  of  aristocratic  and  elegant  manners.  She  had 
been  a  beauty  in  her  youth,  when  her  numerous  adventures 
formed  the  theme  of  many  a  satirical  couplet.  Though  now 
grown  timorous  and  devout,  she  occasionally  amused  herself 


20  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

-with  singing  over,  in  a  thin  quavering  voice,  those  noiils  as 
antiquated  as  her  charms.  But,  whilst  she  carefully  remem- 
bered all  the  verses  that  spoke  of  her  departed  beauty,  she 
omitted  the  less  flattering  comments  on  her  virtue,  "with  the 
declaration — "  that  her  memory  was  failing  her,  and  that  at 
her  age  one  began  to  forget  all  about  those  things." 

Walpole,  who  found  no  one  truly  fascinating  save  Madame 
du  Deffand,  probably  because  she  admired  him  extravagantly, 
speaks  thus  of  the  Marechale  de  Luxembourg  :  "  She  has 
been  very  handsome,  very  abandoned,  and  very  mischievous. 
Her  beauty  is  gone,  her  lovers  are  gone,  and  she  thinks  the 
devil  is  coming.  This  dejection  has  softened  her  into  being 
rather  agreeable,  for  she  has  wit  and  good  breeding ;  but  you 
would  swear  by  the  restlessness  of  her  person,  and  the  horrors 
she  cannot  conceal,  that  she  had  signed  the  compact,  and 
expected  to  be  called  upon  in  a  week  for  the  performance." 
The  fastidious  Rousseau  judged  her  differently.  The  reputa- 
tion of  her  caustic  wit  had  prepared  him  for  an  epigrammatic, 
overbearing  woman  ;  whereas,  on  beholding  her  for  the  first 
time,  he  was  not  less  charmed  by  the  unaffected  grace  and 
seducing  gentleness  of  her  manners,  than  by  the  keenness  and 
delicacy  of  her  tact.  The  prudent  old  Marechale  knew  very 
well  with  whom  to  be  satirical  :  she  did  not  deal  out  her 
arrows  right  and  left,  needlessly  making  herself  enemies,  like 
her  splenetic  friend,  Madame  du  Deffand ;  to  whom  she, 
however,  remained  faithful,  notwithstanding  her  ill-temper, 
carefully  nursing  her  in  her  last  illness,  and  assiduously 
playing  loto  with  Madame  de  Choiseul  by  the  bedside  of  the 
dying  woman.* 

Madame  de  Luxembourg  knew  how  to  choose  her  victims ; 
amongst  these  was  the  unlucky  Duchess  of  Mazarin,  whose 
pastoral  tendencies,  want  of  tact,  full,  luxuriant  figure,  and 
complexion  somewhat  too  rich  and  blooming,  found  no  mercy 
in  her  sight.  "  You  cannot,  however,  deny  that  her  colour  is 
beautifully  fresh,"  some  one  once  observed  to  the  Marechale. 
"  Yes,"  she  impatiently  replied,  "  as  fresh  as  butcher's  meat." 

*  See  page  176. 


MARECHALE  DE  LUXEMBOURG.  21 

The  Marechale  had  been  one  of  the  most  delicate  beauties  of 
the  court  of  Louis  XV.  This  crude  and  pitiless  comparison, 
which  happened  to  be  strikingly  correct,  joined  to  the  adven- 
ture of  the  terrified  flock,  nearly  drove  Madame  de  Mazarin 
to  despair. 

Madame   de   Luxembourg  did  not,  however,  indulge  fre- 
quently in  satire  or  gossip  :  these  are  vulgar  amusements,  and 
she  held  a  school  of  good  breeding.    Nor  did  she  think  herself 
justified  in  being  too  rigorous ;  for  she  knew  that,  with  one 
word  of  censure,   she   could  exclude  whomsoever  she  chose 
from  the  established   pale  of  propriety  and  good  taste.     Her 
decisions  on  those  matters  were  without  appeal.     In  conse- 
quence of   this  high  reputation,   the   old    Mareckale   might 
generally  be  seen  surrounded  by  a  wide  circle  of  the  young 
noblesse    of    both    sexes,    who    listened   to   her   attentively, 
modelled  their  speech  and   manners  on   her   example,   and 
carefully   treasured    her    precepts.       Her    charming    grand- 
daughter generally  appeared  near  her,  as  the  living  testimony 
of  the  admirable  education  an  unscrupulous  woman  of  the 
world  could  give  in  her  penitent  old  age.     The  Countess 
AmSlie,  as  she  was  generally  called,  was  one  of  those  rare 
beings  who  seem  too  bewitching  not  to  be  universally  ad- 
mired, and  too  good  and  gentle  not  to  be  still  more  loved. 
Young,  wealthy,  and  high  born,  exquisitely  beautiful,  pious 
and  pure  as  an  angel,  lenient  to  the  follies  of  the  world,  and 
towards  herself  rigidly  severe,  the  charm  of  her  nature  was 
such  as  to  enable  her  to  dispense  with  the  wit  and  brilliancy 
which  were  then  considered  absolutely  necessary  for  an  ac- 
complished woman.     Without  seeking  to  dazzle,  she  attracted 
universally.     Few  women  of  her  time  inspired   so  great  a 
number  of  romantic   and  passionate  attachments  :  her  hus- 
band, the  worthless  Duke  of  Lauzun,  alone  remained  indifferent 
to  her  virtues  and  beauty.     She  charmed  even  her  own  sex. 
Many  women  conceived  for  her  an  enthusiastic  admiration 
which  shewed  how  far  they  thought  her  removed,  in  her 
excellence,  beyond  the  reach  of  emulation  or  jealousy.     A 
portrait  of  the  Countess  Amelic,  by  the  calm  Madame  Necker, 


22  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

would  make  this  account  appear  cold  and  tame  in  comparison 
■with  the  glowing  eulogy  bestowed  upon  her  by  the  methodical 
and  reasoning  Gcnevese.  Nature  had  done  much  for  this 
charming  woman,  but  it  was  also  acknowledged  that  she 
owed  far  more  to  the  studious  care  with  which  she  had  been 
reared  by  her  grandmother.  It  was  from  the  Marechale  de 
Luxembourg  that  she  had  derived  the  indescribable  grace  of 
manner  which  rendered  her  so  truly  fascinating :  she  was, 
however,  far  more  simple  than  her  old  relative,  who  carried, 
to  a  singular  degree,  her  love  of  studied  elegance.  Notwith- 
standing her  extreme  devotion,  which  increased  as  she  advanced 
in  years,  the  Marechale  is  said  to  have  had  little  faith  in  the 
efficacy  of  prayers  that  did  not  happen  to  prove  models  of 
style  and  taste;  and  to  have  candidly  believed,  in  her  aristo- 
cratic pride,  that  elegance  of  language  could  not  fail,  as  well 
as  sincerity  of  heart,  from  being  acceptable  to  the  Supreme 
Being. 

Thus,  notwithstanding  thejiaible'dcolii^oX  female  influ- 
ence,  society  still  preserved  its  exquisite  polish.  Discussions 
aneTelrrncat)  convex &aXiiJII]Cwprp  g"if1»™  nllm^J-  f-^py  wPro 
consiclcred  as  leading  to  exclusiveness  and  ennui.  To  pass 
from  one  subject  to  another  with  tact  and  frivolous  ease,  was 
the  most  essential  point  of  conversational  good  breeding. 
This  excessive  elegance  produced  in  the  end  great  monotony  : 
alOnTu*vtd*ualTty  was  destroyed:  originality  of  thought  or 
feeling  became  almost  a  reproach ;  and  social  lntercjmjje, 
instead  of  consisting  in  the  exchange  of  spontaneous  feeling, 
assumed  a  tone  of  dull  and  tedious  sameness. 

Many-HOveTidcas  emerged  from  this  antiquated  background, 
but  the  new  path  which  was  to  lead  to  a  revolution  in  social 
manners,  though  already  struck,  was,  as  yet,  scarcely  trod 
upon.  Almost  all  the  old  frivolousncss  remained :  many 
ladies  had  no  graver  occupation  than  parfilage,  which  con- 
sisted in  unravelling  the  gold  from  the  silk  thread  in  the  rich 
lace  then  worn  by  men  of  rank.  The  women  solicited,  for 
this  purpose,  the  old  lace  of  the  cast-off  clothes  belonging  to 
their  male  friends ;  and,  in  their  eagerness,  they  often  cut  oif 


MADAME  DE  BEAU1IARNAIS.  23 

and  seized  upon  that  which,  was  new.  This  fashion  was 
carried  to  such  an  extent  that  the  presents  offered  to  ladies 
on  New- Year's  Day  consisted  almost  exclusively  of  toys  made 
of  gold  thread,  and  all  destined  to  be  unravelled.  This  zeal 
in  favour  of  parjilage  was  not  wholly  disinterested.  The 
gold,  when  separated  from  the  silk,  was  always  sold,  and  it 
was  calculated  that  a  clever  parjileuse  could  earn  about  a 
hundred  louis  a  year  by  this  lucrative  amusement.  All  the 
women  were  not,  however,  so  frivolously  engaged,  and  a  few 
still  opened  their  saloons  to  philosophy.  The  elegant  Duchess 
of  Brancas  and  Madame  Fanny  de  Beauharnais,  the  poetess, 
shared  (at  an  infinite  distance,  it  is  true)  the  empire  of  the 
Mar£ckale  de  Luxembourg. 

Madame  Fanny  de  Beauharnais,  the  aunt  of  Josephine's 
first  husband,  was  a  lady  of  fashion,  who  seemed  attended  by 
the  same  ill-fortune  that  persecuted  the  Duchess  of  Mazarin. 
All  her  efforts  at  notoriety  either  failed  or  ended  most  un- 
pleasantly. She  began  by  opening  a  bureau  d'esprit,  destined 
to  rival  that  oT^Madame  Geoffrin  ;  but  the_philosophers  and 
^encyclopedists  retn^TT^l^ndon  their  oTdfriend.  and  Madnmr 
"de  Beauharnais  was  obliged  to  receive  seconjLntn  author?, 


with  Dorat,  the  poet,  at  their  head.  She  next  took  to  writing 
indifferent  poetry,  which  she  most  unadvisedly  published. 
This  was  a  very  unfortunate  step.  The  men  who  gathered 
willingly  around  a  clever  woman  of  the  world  cared  very  little 
for  an  authoress,  who  might  eclipse  their  own  reputation,  and 
who  would,  at  least,  exact  a  degree  of  flattery  and  praise  they 
came  to  receive  and  not  to  bestow.  These  reasons  rendered 
the  soirees  of  Madame  de  Beauharnais  almost  as  dull  as  those 
of  her  friend  and  sister  poetess,  Madame  du  Bocage.  In  the 
year  1773,  Madame  de  Beauharnais  published  a  little  work, 
entitled  "ATous  les  Penseurs,  Salut!"  in  which  she  under- 
took the  defence  of  female  authorship.  In  an  age  when 
women  ruled  everything,  from  state  affairs  down  to  fashion- 
able trifles,  this  was,  however,  considered  a  strange  instance  of 
audacity.  The  bitter  and  satirical  poet,  Lebrun,  answered 
Madame  de  Beauharnais  in  a  strain  of  keen  sarcasm.     "  Ink," 


24  WOMAN  IN  FUANCE. 

said  he,  "  ill  becomes  rosy  fingers."  Dorat  was  accused  of 
composing  liis  friend's  poetry ;  there  is  no  proof  that  the 
accusation  was  founded  on  truth,  but  it  served  to  prompt 
Lebrun  with  the  following  clever  epigram  : — 

"  La  belle  Egle,  dit-on,  a  deux  petits  travers : 
Elle  fait  son  visage,  et  ne  fait  pas  ses  vers." 

It  was  not  true,  however,  that  Madame  de  Beauharnais 
made  her  face.  Lebrim  had  never  seen  her  when  he  wrote 
this ;  he  met  her  afterwards,  and  admired  both  her  graceful 
person  and  her  agreeable  manners.  This  did  not  prevent  him, 
however,  from  still  directing  against  her  some  of  his  keenest 
epigrams.  Madame  de  Beauharnais,  weary  of  the  unequal  con- 
test, retired  at  length  from  Paris,  which  had  been  rendered 
odious  to  her  by  repeated  mortifications. 

The  wife  of  the  minister,  Neeker,  possessed  a  more  real 
and  serious  power. 

Madame  Necker  was  a  religious,  pure-minded  woman,  with 
principles  of  rigid  austerity.  Learned,  methodical,  with  a 
touch  of  the  puritanism  of  Geneva  in  her  tone  and  feelings ; 
in  manner  calm  and  grave,  she  looked  a  severe  and  statue- 
like figure  amidst  the  gay  and  graceful  Frenchwomen  of  the 
period.  She  was  a  native  of  Geneva,  and  the  daughter  of  M. 
Curchod,  a  Protestant  pastor,  residing  in  the  vicinity  of  Lau 
saune.  Her  father  gave  her  the  severe  and  classical  educa- 
tion which  is  usually  bestowed  on  men  alone,  and  the  young 
Suzanne  Curchod  was  renowned  throughout  the  whole  pro- 
vince for  her  wit,  beauty,  and  erudition.  Gibbon,  the  future 
historian,  but  then  an  unknown  youth  studying  in  Lausanne, 
met  Mademoiselle  Curchod,  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  rendering  his  attachment  acceptable  to  both  the 
object  of  his  affections  and  her  parents.  When  he  returned, 
however,  to  England,  his  father  indignantly  refused  to  hear  of 
the  proposed  marriage  between  him  and  the  Swiss  minister's 
portionless  daughter.  Gibbon  yielded  to  parental  authority, 
and  philosophically  forgot  his  learned  mistress.  After  her 
father's  death,  which  left  her  wholly  unprovided  for,  Suzanne 


MADAME  NECKEE.  (  25 


Curchod  retired  with  her  mother  to  Geneva.  She  there 
earned  a  precarious  subsistance  by  teaching  persons  of  her 
own  sex.  When  her  mother  died,  a  ]ady  named  Madame  de 
Vermeuoux  induced  Mademoiselle  Curchod  to  come  to  Paris, 
in  order  to  teach  Latin  to  her  son.  It  was  in  this  lady's  house 
that  she  met  Necker.  He  was  then  in  the  employment  of 
Thelusson  the  banker,  and  occasionally  visited  Madame  de 
Vermeuoux.  Struck  with  the  noble  character  and  grave 
beauty  of  the  young  governess,  Necker  cultivated  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  ultimately  made  her  his  wife.  Mutual  poverty 
had  delayed  their  marriage  for  several  years  ;  but  it  was  not 
long  ere  Necker  rose  from  his  obscurity.  Madame  Necker 
had  an  ardent  love  of  honourable  distinction,  which  she  im- 
parted to  her  husband,  and  which  greatly  served  to  quicken 
his  efforts  ;  his  high  talents  in  financial  matters  were  at  length 
recognised  :  he  became  a  wealthy  and  respected  man.  Shortly 
after  her  marriage,  Madame  Necker  expressed  the  desire  of 
devoting  herself  to  literature.  Her  husband,  however,  deli- 
cately intimated  to  her  that  he  should  regret  seeing  her  adopt 
such  a  course.  This  sufficed  to  induce  her  to  relinquish  her 
intention  :  she  loved  him  so  entirely,  that,  without  effort  or 
repining,  she  could  make  his  least  wish  her  law. 

Madame  Necker  soon  perceived  the  power  of  woman  in 
Freilcl"  society.  With"  her  talents,  and  the  wealth  at  her 
command,-  she  saw  huw  easily  she-couldr  acquire  an  influence 
which  might  be  highly  advantageous  to  her  husband.  Long 
"Before  Necker  was  called  to  office  in  1776,  his  wife  had. 


therefore,  opened  hp.r  ITrmsp  tn  M.nnnonte.1,  Saint- Lambert,_the 
Princess  of  Monaco.  Thomas.  Guibert,  the  Countess  Arnelie. 
Madame  de  Grammont,  Euffon,  Madame  d'Angivilliers — for- 
merly Madame  du  Marchais — La  Harpe,  GrimmT  Bavnalf  and 
all  the  members  of  the  philosophic  body.  Though  she  partly 
succeeded  in  her  object  of  thus  adding  to  her  husband's 
increasing  popularity,  Madame  Necker  wholly  mistook  her 
vocation  when  she  endeavoured  to  shine  beyond  the  quiet 
circle  of  domestic  privacy.  Notwithstanding  her  long  resi- 
dence in  France,  she  could  never  divest  herself  entirely  of  the 


WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

primitive  austerity  imbibed  with  her  early  education.  Her 
learning,  her  method,  her  rigid  morality,  and  strict  piety,  un- 
fitted her  for  the  part  she  had  chosen  ;  which  only  required 
a  light,  brilliant  wit,  and  graceful  ease  of  manner.  The  truth- 
fulness, and  even  the  simplicity,  of  her  pure  nature,  secured 
the  respect  and  esteem  of  her  guests ;  but  they  all  felt  that 
she  failed  in  that  power  of  pleasing,  then  far  more  highly 
valued  than  the  most  sterling  qualities.  Her  brilliant  com- 
plexion, intelligent  features,  and  fine  figure,  only  elicited  cold 
admiration.  Even  her  friends  could  not  forgive  her  dancing 
so  awkwardly,  dressing  with  so  little  taste,  and,  above  all, 
wanting  the  charm  of  that  all-pervading  grace  which  had  ren- 
dered the  plain  Mademoiselle  de  Lespinasse  attractive,  and 
almost  beautiful.  They  found  her  bearing  formal  and  con- 
strained ;  her  language  too  cold  and  stately.  In  vain  she 
drew  around  her  men  of  talent  and  agreeable  women ;  in  vain 
she  paid  the  most  sedulous  attention  to  her  guests,  and  ex- 
erted herself  to  please  them  :  there  seemed,  in  all  she  said  or 
did,  something  to  be  wanting  still.  The  severity  of  her  reli- 
gious principles,  and  the  freedom  with  which  she  manifested 
them,  somewhat  annoyed  and  restrained  her  philosophic 
guests.  They  felt  also  (what  her  polite  hospitality  could  never 
wholly  conceal)  that  the  pleasure  she  found  in  their  company 
was  not  the  chief  object  for  which  she  drew  them  around  her. 
To  procure^exliu riband  n  pleasing  relaxation,  nnrl  fro  advance 
him  in  life,  were  her  real  intentions  in  opening  her  b°ns.f-  t,n_ 
"thc  philosophers  ;  and  she  unfortunately  allowed  this  to-be 
rattier  too  clearly  perceived.  The  honest  but  pompous  Necker 
did  not  interfere  with  ins  wife's  literary  society.  He  was  al- 
ways present,  but  spoke  little,  and  allowed  every  one  else  to  talk 
for  his  amusement.  The  task  of  directing  the  conversation 
lie  left  to  Madame  Necker.  Her  solid  and  serious  mind  was 
little  adapted  for  this  responsibility.  It  has  been  said  that 
she  often  prepared  her  evening  conversations  beforehand  :  she 
certainly  wanted  that  spontaneousness  which  gives  to  social 
intercourse  its  greatest  charm.  But  the  capital  error  of 
Madame  Necker,  in  the  eyes  of  the  philosophers,  was  that, 


MADAME  NECKER.  27 

either  through  mismanagement  or  economy,  she  haled  in  pro- 
viding them  with  good  cheer.  Grimm  feelingly  complained  of 
her  cook,  who  was  no  doubt  vastly  inferior  to  that  of  Burou 
d'Holbach,  the  celebrated  maitre  d'hotel  of  philosophy. 

Though  Madame  Necker's  Friday  dinners  were  too  stiffly 
solemn,  and  very  indifferent  in  a  gastronomic  point  of  view, 
the  growing  importance  of  her  husband,  and  her  own  real,  if 
not  very  brilliant,  merit,  caused  them,  in  spite  of  the  touch 
of  ennui  they  imparted,  to  be  well  attended.  Her  worldly 
position,  as  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  banker,  was  one  of  great 
influence.  It  was  Madame  Necker  who  first  conceived,  in  the 
year  1770,  the  idea  of  erecting,  by  the  subscriptions  of  literary 
men,  a  statue  to  Voltaire.  Subscriptions  soon  poured  in  : 
Rousseau,  to  Voltaire's  infinite  annoyance,  sent  his  subscrip- 
tion of  three  louis  ;  and  the  sculptor  Pigalle  was  despatched 
to  take  a  model  of  the  favoured  French  poet.  When,  a  few 
years  later,  Gibbon  visited  Paris,  he  found  his  Mademoiselle 
Curchod  on  a  level  with  those  ladies  who  then  gave  the  tone 
to  foreign  courts  and  Parisian  society.  She  received  her 
former  admirer  with  a  cordial  unembarrassed  manner,  which 
shewed  that,  if  his  infidelity  had  ever  inspired  her  with  any 
resentment,  the  feeling  had  long  since  subsided  and  yielded 
to  entire  indifference.  Gibbon,  forgetting  that  years  had  not 
improved  his  personal  appearance — he  was  very  short,  and 
had  grown  enormously  stout — was  not  a  little  nettled  to  per- 
ceive that  Necker,  no  wise  jealous  of  his  wife's  first  lover,  did 
not  scruple  to  leave  them  alone  together,  whilst  he  comfortably 
retired  to  rest.  Necker,  however,  very  highly  prized  Gib- 
bon's conversation,  and  subsequently  visited  him  in  England, 
accompanied  by  his  wife. 

As  Necker  rose  in  the  world.  Madame  Necker's  influence 

JllCreaScd  ;    but  it  never  wn°   nn     WHim^i-imF pnwnr    lilrP   flint  nf 

Madame  du  Deffand,  or  of  the  Marechale  de  Luxembourg. 
Over  her  husband  she  always  possessed  great  influence.  Her 
virtues  and  noble  character  had  inspired  him  with  a  feeling 
akin  to  veneration.  He  was  not  wholly  guided  by  her  coun- 
sels, but  he  respected  her  opinions  as  those  of  a  high-minded 


28  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

being,  whom  all  the  surrounding  folly  and  corruption  could 
not  draw  down  from  her  sphere  of  holy  purity.  If  Madame 
Necker  was  loved  and  esteemed  by  her  husband,  she  may  be 
said  to  have  almost  idolised  him  ;  and  her  passionate  attach- 
ment probably  increased  the  feelings  of  vanity  and  self-im- 
portance of  which  Necker  has  often  been  accused.  This  ex- 
clusive devotedness  caused  some  wonder  amongst  the  friends 
of  the  minister  and  his  wife ;  for  seldom  had  these  sceptical 
philosophers  witnessed  a  conjugal  union  so  strict  and  uncom- 
promising, and  yet  so  touching  in  its  very  severity. 

When  Necker  became,  in  177G,  Director-General  of  the 
Finances,  his  wife  resolved  that  the  influence  her  husband's 
official  position  gave  her  should  not  be  employed  in  procur- 
ing unmerited  favours  for  flatterers  or  parasites.  She  placed 
before  herself  the  far  more  noble  object  of  alleviating  mis- 
fortune, and  pointing  out  to  her  reforming  husband  some  of 
the  innumerable  abuses  which  then  existed  in  every  depart- 
ment of  the  state.  One  of  her  first  attempts  was  to  over- 
throw the  lottery.  She  pressed  the  point  on  Necker's  atten- 
tion ;  but,  though  he  shared  her  convictions,  he  had  not  the 
power  of  destroying  this  great  evil :  he  did,  however,  all  he 
could  to  moderate  its  excesses.  The  prisons  and  hospitals  of 
Paris  greatly  occupied  the  attention  of  Madame  jSJecker  dur- 
ing the  five  years  of  her  husband's  power.  Her  devotedness  to 
the  cause  of  humanity  was  admirable,  and  shone  with  double 
lustre  amidst  the  heartless  selfishness  of  the  surrounding  world. 
She  once  happened  to  learn  that  a  certain  Count  of  Lautrec 
had  been  imprisoned  in  a  dungeon  of  the  fortress  of  Ham 
for  twenty-eight  years  !  and  that  the  unhappy  captive  now 
scarcely  seemed  to  belong  to  human-kind.  A  feeling  of  deep 
compassion  seized  her  heart.  To  liberate  a  state  prisoner  was 
more  than  her  influence  could  command,  but  she  resolved  to 
lighten,  if  possible,  his  load  of  misery.  She  set  out  for  Ham, 
and  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  sight  of  M.  de  Lautrec.  She 
found  a  miserable-looking  man,  lying  listlessly  on  the  straw 
of  his  dungeon,  scarcely  clothed  with  a  few  tattered  rags,  and 
surrounded  by  rats  and  reptiles.     Madame  Necker  soothed 


MADAME  NECKER.  Of) 

his  fixed  and  sullen  despair  -with  promises  of  speedy  relief ; 
nor  did  she  depart  until  she  had  kept  her  word,  and  seen  M. 
de  Lautrec  removed  to  an  abode  where,  if  still  a  prisoner,  he 
might  at  least  spend  in  peace  the  few  days  left  him  by  the 
tyranny  of  his  oppressors. 

It  is  said  that  the  celebrated  De  la  Tudc,  the  ill-fated 
victim  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  also  owed  his  freedom  to 
the  interference  of  Madame  Necker,  whose  attention  was  first 
drawn  to  his  case  by  the  humble  but  generous  Madame  le 
Gros.  Acts  of  individual  benevolence  were  not,  however, 
the  only  object  of  the  minister's  wife.  Notwithstanding  the 
munificence  of  her  private  charities,  she  aimed  none  the  less 
to  effect  general  good.  Considerable  ameliorations  were  intro- 
duced by  her  in  the  condition  of  the  hospitals  of  Paris.  She 
entered,  with  unwearied  patience,  into  the  most  minute  de- 
tails of  their  actual  administration,  and,  with  admirable 
ingenuity,  rectified  errors  or  suggested  improvements.  Her 
aim  was  to  effect  a  greater  amount  of  good  with  the  same 
capital,  which  she  now  saw  grossly  squandered  and  misapplied. 
The  reforms  which  she  thus  introduced  were  both  important 
and  severe.  She  sacrificed  almost  the  whole  of  her  time  to 
this  praiseworthy  task,  and  ultimately  devoted  a  considerable 
sum  to  found  the  hospital  which  still  bears  her  name.  Be- 
yond this,  Madame  Necker  sought  to  exercise  no  power  over 
her  husband,  or  through  his  means.  She  loved  him  far  too 
truly  and  too  well  to  aim  at  an  influence  which  might  have 
degraded  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Necker  was,  how- 
ever, proud  of  his  noble-hearted  wife,  and  never  hesitated  to 
confess  how  much  he  was  indebted  to  her  advice.  When 
he  retired  from  office,  in  1781,  and  published  his  famous 
"  Compte  Pendu,"  he  seized  the  opportunity  of  paying  a  high 
and  heartfelt  homage  to  the  virtues  of  his  wife.  "  Whilst 
retracing,"  he  observes  at  the  conclusion  of  his  work,  "a 
portion  of  the  charitable  tasks  prescribed  by  your  majesty, 
let  me  be  permitted,  sire,  to  allude,  without  naming  her,  to  a 
person  gifted  with  singular  virtues,  and  who  has  materially 
assisted  me  in  accomplishing  the   designs  of  your  majesty. 


30  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Although  her  name  was  never  uttered  to  you,  in  all  the 
vanities  of  high  office,  it  is  right,  sire,  that  you  should  be 
aware  that  it  is  known  and  frequently  invoked  in  the  most 
obscure  asylums  of  suffering  humanity.  It  is  no  doubt  most 
fortunate  for  a  minister  of  finance  to  find,  in  the  companion 
of  his  life,  the  assistance  he  needs  for  so  many  details  of 
beneficence  and  charity,  which  might  otherwise  prove  too 
much  for  his  strength  and  attention.  Carried  away  by  the 
tumults  of  general  affairs, — often  obliged  to  sacrifice  the  feel- 
ings of  the  private  man  to  the  duties  of  the  citizen,  he  may 
well  esteem  himself  happy,  when  the  complaints  of  poverty 
and  misery  can  be  confided  to  an  enlightened  person  who 
shares  the  sentiment  of  his  duties." 

Necker  was  greatly  criticised  for  the  public  acknowledgment 
he  thus  made  of  his  wife's  virtues,  and  of  the  aid  which  he 
had  derived  from  them ;  but  he  spoke  so  because  her  power 
had  been  pure,  and  such  as  he  did  not  blush  to  avow.  The 
influence  of  Madame  Necker  over  her  husband  was  not,  how- 
.ever,  always  irreprehensible  :  his  resignation,  in  1781,  which 
delivered  France  over  to  Calonne  and  Lomenie,  is  generally 
attributed  to  her.  The  grief  she  felt  at  the  libels  which  daily 
appeared  against  him,  joined  to  her  ardent  and  ambitious 
wish  of  seeing  him  acknowledged  minister — an  office  of  which 
he  had  all  the  toil  and  responsibility  without  the  dignity  it 
conferred — induced  her  to  persuade  her  husband  to  tender  his 
resignation,  unless  he  could  obtain  the  post  to  which  his  ser- 
vices gave  him  a  claim.  The  intrigues  of  Maurepas,  and  of 
all  the  courtiers  he  had  irritated  by  his  economy,  prevented 
this  justice  from  being  rendered  to  Necker.  His  resignation 
was  accepted,  and  he  retired  once  more  to  private  life. 

The  saloon  of  Madame  Necker,  during  this  her  husband's 
first  ministry,  (for  such  it  was  in  reality,  though  not  in  name,) 
was  much  enlivened  by  the  presence  of  her  only  child,  Ger- 
maine  Necker,  who  afterwards  became  the  celebrated  Madame 
de  Stael,  and  whose  character  already  differed  so  strikingly 
from  that  of  her  mother.  Madame  Necker,  with  all  her  high 
principle  and  noble  qualities,  was  rigid  and  somewhat  pedantic. 


QEEMAINE  NECKER.  31 

She  was  capable  of  a  deep  and  sincere  attachment,  but  her 
mind  was  too  calm  and  too  well-disciplined  for  passion.  Her 
slightest  actions  were  regulated  by  a  sense  of  method  and 
duty.  She  neither  admitted  nor  understood  other  laws  of 
conduct.  Germaine  Necker,  on  the  contrary,  displayed,  even 
as  a  child,  an  ardent  nature,  full  of  passionate  impulses, 
strange  in  one  so  young.  The  least  emotion  of  joy  or  grief 
affected  her  even  to  pain ;  she  could  scarcely  hear  her 
parents  commended  without  bursting  into  tears  ;  and  the 
mere  thought  of  meeting  some  remarkable  and  celebrated 
personage  made  her  heart  beat,  and  powerfully  agitated  her 
whole  frame.  For  this  impetuous  and  enthusiastic  young 
being  to  be  placed  under  the  control  of  the  calm  and  methodi- 
cal Madame  Necker,  was  like  a  lava  stream  compelled  to  flow 
through  some  cold  northern  region.  Nothing  annoyed  Ma- 
dame Necker  more  deeply  than  this  wide  dissimilarity  which 
nature  had  placed  between  herself  and  her  daughter.  She  had 
early  resolved  to  educate  her  child  according  to  a  peculiarly 
strict  system  of  her  own  ;  but  it  was  in  vain  that  she  sought 
to  curb  that  burning  spirit  within  the  sphere  of  her  formal 
rules.  Germaine  was  docile  to  the  will  of  her  parents,  and 
would  willingly  have  obeyed,  if  an  irresistible  impulse  had 
not  led  her  far  beyond  her  mothers  cold  and  methodical 
teaching.  One  of  her  favourite  amusements,  as  a  child,  was 
to  cut  out  paper  kings  and  queens,  and  make  them  act  in 
tragedies  which  she  improvised  on  the  instant,  speaking  for 
all  the  characters  successively.  Madame  Necker,  whose  rigid 
Calvinist  notions  were  offended  by  her  daughter's  theatrical 
predilections,  interdicted  this  amusement,  which  Germaine, 
unable  to  relinquish,  followed  in  secret.  It  was  also  by 
stealth  that  she  read  most  of  the  novels  of  the  clay;  amongst 
the  rest,  Richardson's  "  Clarissa  Harlowe,"  whose  elopement, 
as  she  afterwards  so  happily  expressed  it,  had  been  one  of  the 
great  events  of  her  own  youth. 

Instead  of  being  educated,  like  most  of  the  young  ladies  of 
the  period,  in  the  calm  seclusion  of  a  convent,  Mademoiselle 
Necker  was  thus  reared  at  home,  and  allowed  to  mingle  freely 


32  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

with  the  talented  guests  who  assembled  in  her  mother's  draw- 
ing-room. This  produced  in  her  a  premature  development  of 
intellect  which,  though  it  could  not  weaken  her  powerful 
genius,  most  probably  abridged  her  brilliant  career.  Germaine 
generally  sat  on  a  low  wooden  stool,  near  the  arm-chair,  and 
under  the  watchful  eye  of  Madame  Necker,  who  constantly 
reminded  her  to  hold  herself  straight.  Though  the  child  was 
dark  and  plain,  the  striking  intelligence  of  her  expressive 
countenance,  and  the  wonderful  beauty  of  her  large  black 
eyes,  gave  her  a  singular  attraction  ;  with  all  the  grace  and 
freshness  of  youth,  she  had  had  none  of  its  puerility.  Some 
of  the  gravest  men  who  visited  Madame  Necker,  found  evi- 
dent pleasure  in  conversing  with  the  pale,  earnest  girl.  The 
precocity  of  her  judgment  already  revealed  what  she  would 
one  day  become.  The  Abbe  Eaynal  discerned  amongst  the 
first  her  intellectual  power ;  and  she  was  scarcely  emerging 
from  childhood,  when  he  wished  her  to  contribute  a  disserta- 
tion on  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  for  his  great 
philosophical  work.  In  this  feverish  atmosphere  of  praise 
and  intellectual  excitement  grew  up  Germaine  Necker.  From 
her  mother  she  imbibed  a  strong  religious  feeling,  which  never 
abandoned  her ;  Necker  imparted  to  her  his  ambitious  love 
of  political  popularity ;  and  the  society  in  which  she  was 
brought  up  strengthened  her  passion  for  literature  and  fed  the 
burning  flame  of  her  genius.  Her  life  and  her  writings  bear 
deep  traces  of  these  three  powerful  principles. 

The  natural  result  of  an  education  which  thus  sequestered 
her  almost  entirely  from  that  self-communion  that  teaches 
how  to  dispense  with  the  world's  approbation  or  blame,  was 
to  engender  a  passionate  thirst  of  applause  and  social  distinc- 
tion in  the  daughter  of  Necker.  Dazzled  by  the  power  then 
granted  to  conversational  eloquence,  she  also  sought  to  shine 
by  that  brilliant  accomplishment :  nor  was  it  mere  vanity 
that  induced  her  to  act  thus ;  there  is,  and  must  ever  be, 
deep  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  great  intellectual  powers  like 
hers.  As  a  talker,  she  has  not,  perhaps,  been  surpassed. 
Clear,  comprehensive,  and  vigorous,   like   that   of  man,   her 


GEKMAINE  NECKER.  33 

language  was  also  full  of  womanly  passion  and  tenderness. 
The  calm  Madame  Necker  was  soon  thrown  into  the  shade  by 
her  brilliant  and  accomplished  daughter  :  she  was  too  noble- 
minded  to  feel  the  least  jealousy  of  one  who  was  so  dear  to 
her,  although  their  natures  were  most  uncongenial ;  but  she 
was  hurt  to  perceive  that  her  husband,  that  object  of  her  ex- 
clusive idolatry,  almost  preferred  the  companionship  of  his 
daughter  to  her  own.  The  deep  attachment  which  Neckcr's 
wife  always  professed  for  him  was  a  passion  in  the  soul  of  the 
more  ardent  Germainc.  She  carried  this  feeling  to  an  excess, 
and  once  confessed,  "  that  she  could  almost  feel  jealous  of  her 
mother."  Could  a  man  so  ardently  loved  fail  to  be  vain  1 
The  decaying  health  of  her  mother  also  contributed  to  give 
more  importance  to  Germaine,  in  the  soirees  held  at  her 
father's  house.  Madame  Necker  became  afflicted  towards  the 
end  of  her  life  with  a  painful  nervous  disease,  that  compelled 
her  to  remain  constantly  standing  :  she  had  become  thin  and 
extremely  pale ;  her  dazzling  freshness  had  wholly  vanished, 
and  when  she  now  received  her  guests  she  looked  more  cold 
and  statue-like  than  ever  by  the  side  of  her  animated  daughter. 
Weakened  by  long  illness,  she  welcomed,  as  a  relief,  the  com- 
parative neglect  of  her  latter  years,  and  gladly  left  Paris  after 
the  close  of  her  husband's  second  ministry.  They  retired  to 
Coppet,  where  she  died  in  1794,  calm  and  resigned  amidst  the 
most  acute  sufferings. 

If  Madame  Necker  has  not  left  so  remarkable  a  name  as 
many  women  of  her  time ;  if  her  contemporaries,  justly  per- 
haps, found  her  too  cold  and  formal ;  yet  she  shines,  at  least 
in  that  dark  age,  a  noble  example  of  woman's  highest  virtues 
—devoted  love,  truth,  and  purity. 


VOL.  II.  C 


CHAPTER  III. 

MADAME  DE  GENLTS — THE  "ORDER  OP  PERSEVERANCE  " — 
MADAME  DE  MONTESSON FRANKLIN — DEATH  OF  VOL- 
TAIRE AND  ROUSSEAU. 

The  golden  days^when  woman  ruleji^rbUrnri]y^over_the__ 
French  sociaTworld,  were  now  nearly  over.     The  society  of 
Madame  Necker  was  one  of  the  very  few  tnn.t  maintained  ils. 
pQsition  ;  and  this  may  have  beenpartly  owing  to  decker's 
political   power.      The  little   economist    coterie    of   Madame 
(F^Augivilliers  stirl  remained  ;  but  it  was  too  circumscribed  in 
its  spirit  to  possess  the  wide  influence  it  might    otherwise 
have  exercised.   ^Notwithstanding  these  disadvantageous  cir- 
cumstances,  many  women  could  stilh^when  sufficiently  attrac- 
tive, obtain  a  considerable  share  of  the  dominion  wlii^h  bi^j_ 
atT15netime  been  so  liberally  granted  to  their_ggx-f  but  the 
difference  between  their  former  and  their  actual  powpr  was 
that  the  latter  proved  to  be  essentially  persou-n^  nnrl  ennlr)  pq 
longer  be  exercised  through  the  mediunioXja^cot©ri«. 


Amongst  the  women  who  possessed  most  of  this  individual 
influence,  during  the  earlier  portion  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
XVI.,  was  the  pretty  and  clever  Madame  de  Genlis,  then  in 
all  the  freshness  of  her  charms,  and  the  enjoyment  of  her 
literary  celebrity.  Young,  agreeable,  with  brilliant  black 
eyes,  luxuriant  light-brown  hair,  and  a  countenance  of  re- 
markable piquancy,  which  often  caused  her  to  be  likened  to 
Marmontel's  Roxelane  ;  she,  moreover,  possessed  the  supple- 
ness of  manner,  and  soft,  insinuating  grace,  in  which  the  more 
honest  and  straightforward  Madame  Necker  entirely  failed. 
Madame  de  Genlis  is  now  chiefly  considered  as  the  authoress 
of  very  clever  works  on  education  :  but,  at  the  epoch  when 


MADAME  DE  GENLIS.  35 

she  figured  so  brilliantly  in  French  society,  she  was  known  as 
a  witty  woman  of  fashion,  who  played  admirably  on  almost 
every  known  musical  instrument,  mingled  in  all  the  gaieties 
of  life,  amused  herself,  and  intrigued  with  the  best  of  Parisian 
ladies ;  and  who,  notwithstanding  the  time  she  gave  to  plea- 
sure, found  means,  by  her  singular  perseverance  and  industry, 
to  study  various  sciences  and  languages,  and  to  engage  in  the 
composition  of  works  requiring,  not  only  a  well-practised  pen, 
but  also  great  talent  and  a  considerable  degree  of  research. 
The  highly  moral  and  useful  aim  of  her  most  important  works 
could  not,  however,  secure  the  reputation  of  Madame  de  Genlis 
from  reproach. 

From  her  first  appearance  in  Parisian  society,  as  Made- 
moiselle de  Saint- Aubin,  a  young  lady  of  noble  birth,  reduced 
to  the  position  of  a  musical  artiste,  down  to  her  equivocal 
connexion  with  Philippe  Egalite,  and  her  intrigues  for  his 
party  during  the  revolution,  her  character  and  position  always 
appeared  in  the  doubtful  and  ambiguous  light  which  seldom 
fails  to  prove  fatal  to  a  woman's  fair  name. 

Her  family  was  ancient  and  noble,  but  greatly  impoverished. 
She  was  still  a  child,  when  pecuniary  distress  compelled  her 
father  to  leave  France.  She  remained  with  her  mother,  a 
handsome,  clever,  and  intriguing  woman,  who  won  the  favour 
of  M.  de  la  Popeliniere,  and  was  received  with  her  daughter 
at  the  splendid  seat  he  possessed  at  Passy,  near  Paris.  The 
rich  and  voluptuous  financier  allowed  himself  to  be  charmed 
in  his  old  age  by  the  grace  and  dawning  beauty  of  the  youth- 
ful Mademoiselle  de  Saint- Aubin.  He  lamented  her  extreme 
youth,  which  rendered  it  impossible  to  think  of  marrying  her  : 
as,  had  she  only  been  a  few  years  older,  he  would  have  done, 
in  spite  of  his  conjugal  experiences  and  misfortunes.  Child  as 
she  was,  she  understood  very  well  his  sighing  exclamation  of 
Quel  dommage !  whenever  his  look  rested  on  her  graceful 
though  girlish  form  ;  and  she  frankly  confesses,  in  her  Me- 
moirs, that  she  could  almost  have  said  Quel  dommage  !  her- 
self. Although  the  disparity  of  years  between  sixty-six  and 
thirteen  rendered  a  conjugal  union   impossible.  Mademoiselle 


36  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

de  Saint- Aubin  soon  wormed  herself  into  the  favour  of  her 
ancient  admirer,  by  an  easy,  caressing  manner,  of  which  her 
dependent  position  early  taught  her  the  value.  As  soon  as  he 
discovered  the  great  talent  for  music  of  his  young  protegee, 
M.  de  la  Popeliniere  procured  her  the  best  and  most  expensive 
masters  :  she  was  likewise  taught  declamation,  singing,  and  dan- 
cing, at  the  cost  of  her  generous  protector.  Nature  seemed 
to  have  destined  her  to  excel  in  brilliant  and  external  accom- 
plishments :  she  soon  acted  on  the  theatre  in  M.  de  la  Pope- 
liniere's  residence,  with  infinite  tact  and  humour,  and  delighted 
all  his  guests  by  dancing  a  characteristic  ^as  taught  her  by 
the  famous  Deshayes. 

It  was  to  the  early  and  careful  teaching  she  thus  received 
that  Stephanie  de  Saint-Aubin  owed  the  musical  excellence 
which,  on  the  death  of  their  benefactor,  her  mother  was  com- 
pelled to  turn  to  pecuniary  advantage.  Madame  de  Saint- 
Aubin  took  her  daughter  into  the  most  fashionable  societies, 
where  her  musical  performances  were  liberally  remunerated, 
By  many  of  her  hosts  the  young  girl  was  received  with  the 
courtesy  her  birth  and  former  position  in  life  demanded  ;  but 
a  far  greater  number  treated  her  slightingly,  or  at  the  best 
with  patronising  politeness.  She  was  drawn  from  this  sub- 
ordinate position  by  her  marriage  with  the  Count  of  Genlis, 
one  of  the  most  witty  and  profligate  nobles  of  the  period. 
The  young  nobleman  had  met  her  father  in  the  colonies,  and 
there  contracted  a  close  intimacy  with  him.  When  they  had 
been  acquainted  some  time,  M.  de  Saint-Aubin  confidentially 
shewed  to  his  young  friend  the  letters  he  received  from  his 
daughter.  M.  de  Genlis  was  charmed  with  the  simple  and 
graceful  style  of  these  epistles,  and  still  more  with  a  delightful 
miniature  portrait  which  accompanied  them,  and  scarcely  did 
justice  to  the  attractive  features  and  graceful  person  of  the 
writer.  His  first  visit,  when  he  returned  to  France,  was  paid 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Saint-Aubin.  The  freshness  and  piquancy 
of  her  beauty,  the  easy  vivacity  of  her  manners,  her  wit,  and 
accomplishments,  surpassed  his  expectations  and  fascinated 
him   completely.      He  married  her,  notwithstanding  the  op- 


THE  OLDER  OF  PERSEVERANCE.  37 

position  of  Iris  family,  and  generously  enabled  her  father  to 
return  to  France,  by  paying  off  Iris  creditors. 

The  pretty  Madame  de  Genlis  soon  ranked  amongst  the 
fashionable  women  of  the  day.  Full  of  tact  and  talent,  am- 
bitious and  persevering  under  an  air  of  frivolous  gaiety,  she 
succeeded  in  pacifying  her  husband's  relatives,  and  in  obliter- 
ating whatever  discredit  she  might  have  derived  from  her 
former  position  as  a  musical  artiste.  Her  conduct  was,  how- 
ever, strongly  characterised  by  that  mixture  of  independence 
and  levity  which  marked  society  under  the  rule  of  Louis  XV. : 
she  rode  and  dressed  like  a  man  ;  went  in  disguise  to  the  Bal 
des  Porcherons ;  danced  there  with  the  footman  of  M.  de 
Brancas  ;  and,  when  not  otherwise  occupied,  amused  herself 
with  studying  anatomy  and  bleeding  the  sick.  Her  restless 
and  aspiring  temper  led  her  to  seek  distinction  by  every  at 
tainable  method.  There  then  existed  in  French  society  a 
fashionable  reaction  in  favour  of  knightly  virtues,  and  the 
golden  days  of  ancient  chivalry.  Carousals  and  other  pastimes 
of  the  olden  time  were  revived  at  Versailles.  This  enthusiasm 
resembled,  in  many  respects,  the  spirit  of  knight-errantry. 
The  young  nobles  seemed  to  have  proclaimed  themselves  the 
champions  of  freedom  and  humanity.  Women,  like  the  ladies 
of  yore, 

"  Whose  bright  eyes 
Rain'd  influence,  and  judged  the  prize," 

urged  them  on,  and  by  their  impulsive  enthusiasm  materially 
aided  this  movement.  In  order  to  identify  herself  with  it, 
Madame  de  Genlis  founded  a  romantic  order  entitled  the 
"  Order  of  Perseverance;"  but  fearing  lest  her  own  authority 
might  not  suffice  to  recommend  and  bring  it  into  repute,  she 
declared  that  it  was  of  the  very  highest  antiquity,  having 
originally  flourished  in  Poland,  for  several  centuries,  and  that 
she  held  the  laws  and  statutes  from  the  Princess  Potocka 
and  the  Count  of  Brostocki  :  both  were  her  friends,  and  con- 
firmed this  account.  Stanislaus,  King  of  Poland,  with  whom 
Madame  de  Genlis  then  carried  on  a  friendly  correspondence, 
who  had  sent  her  his  portrait,  and  to  whom  she  had  forwarded 


80(124 


38  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

hers  in  return,  favoured  her  sentimental  fraud  by  writing  her 
a  letter  intended  to  be  exhibited,  and  in  which  he  thanked 
her  for  having  revived  this  ancient  Polish  order.  Picturesque 
costumes,  borrowed  from  the  Middle  Ages,  enigmas  composed 
by  Madame  de  Genlis,  moral  questions,  virtuous  speeches,  in- 
genious mottoes,  and  chivalrous  oaths,  formed  the  staple  of 
this  "  Order  of  Perseverance  :"  a  toy  well  fit  for  a  puerile  and 
decaying  aristocracy. 

The  fetes  and  ceremonies  of  this  institution  afford  no  in- 
terest ;  the  most  amusing  circumstance  connected  with  it  was, 
that  the  historian  Eulhiere  gravely  told  Madame  de  Genlis  he 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  order  and  all  its  statutes,  having 
met  with  interesting  details  relative  to  it  in  his  researches  on 
the  history  of  Poland.  Madame  de  Genlis  could  not  inform 
him  that  the  soi-disant  Polish  order  owed  its  existence  to  her 
own  fertile  brain ;  but  she  was  much  entertained  at  the  posi- 
tive knowledge  displayed  by  the  learned  historian.  Her 
literary  successes,  and  the  education  of  the  children  of  the 
Duke  of  Chartres,  soon  diverted  the  attention  of  Madame  de 
Genlis  from  her  "  Order  of  Perseverance  ',"  which,  being  de- 
prived of  her  fostering  care,  languished,  and  was  ultimately 
forgotten. 

The  connexion  of  Madame  de  Genlis  with  the  Orleans 
family  (a  connexion  which  influenced  the  whole  of  her  life) 
had  originated  with  her  husband,  one  of  the  favourites  and 
boon  companions  of  the  Duke  of  Chartres.  The  clever  lady 
had  early  displayed  her  talent  for  intrigue  at  the  expense  of 
this  branch  of  the  royal  family,  by  marrying  her  aunt,  Madame 
de  Montesson,  to  the  old  Duke  of  Orleans.  The  duke  had  for 
many  years  been  connected  with  an  actress  named  Marquise. 
This  circumstance  gave  great  annoyance  to  the  ladies  of  his 
little  court,  who,  unable  to  associate  with  the  mistress  of  the 
prince,  were  thus  debarred  from  the  fetes  and  pleasure  parties 
he  gave  at  his  various  country-seats  to  Mademoiselle  Marquise. 
In  order  to  obviate  so  serious  an  evil,  they  tacitly  agreed — 
well-bred  people  never  speak  of  such  things — to  give  the  duke, 
if  possible,  a  mistress  of  their  own  rank  :  a  nobly-born,  accom- 


MADAME  DE  MONTESSON.  3D 

plished  lady,  who  would  know  how  to  do  the  honours  of  her 
lover's  princely  entertainments,  and  with  whom  they  could 
associate,  at  least  without  degradation.  They  fixed  upon  the 
Marchioness  of  Montesson — a  handsome  widow,  with  whom 
the  prince  was  evidently  as  much  in  love  as  his  phlegmatic 
nature  would  allow  him  to  be  with  any  one — as  the  person  must 
likely  to  effect  their  prudent  and  moral  purpose.  Madame  de 
Montesson  was  accordingly  studiously  praised  to  the  Duke  of 
Orleans.  Her  beauty,  her  talents,  her  virtues,  were  so  con- 
stantly exalted  in  his  presence,  that  the  weak-minded  old  man 
thought  she  must  certainly  be  a  paragon  of  perfection.  She 
behaved  with  infinite  tact ;  for,  instead  of  throwing  herself  in 
the  duke's  way,  she  feigned  a  violent  and  despairing  passion 
for  the  Count  of  Guines.  This  nobleman  was  in  the  secret, 
and  treated  her  with  marked  indifference.  The  old  duke, 
affected  by  the  sorrow  of  the  woman  he  loved,  sought  to  con- 
sole her ;  Madame  de  Montesson  eagerly  accepted  his  friend- 
ship, and.  after  heightening  his  passion  by  every  art  in  her 
power,  ended  by  declaring  herself  entirely  cured  of  her  un- 
happy love.  This  rather  cooled  the  Duke  of  Orleans  :  the 
great  disparity  of  rank  between  them  made  him  hesitate  to 
offer  her  his  hand ;  the  rigidity  of  the  principles  he  had 
always  heard  her  profess,  forbade  him  to  think  of  any  less 
honourable  proposal.  In  this  dilemma,  he  would  probably  have 
given  up  Madame  de  Montesson  altogether,  if  her  niece  had 
not  interfered.  Madame  de  Genlis  wished  to  serve  her  aunt ; 
she  also  entertained  the  ambitious  and  not  unnatural  desire 
of  being  connected  by  alliance  with  the  Orleans  family.  She 
accordingly  employed  all  her  tact  and  talent  to  seduce  the  old 
duke  into  the  proposed  marriage ;  he  wavered  long,  but  her 
arts  finally  triumphed,  and  in  the  year  1773,  Madame  de 
Montesson  became  the  wife  of  one  of  the  first  princes  of  the 
royal  blood  of  France. 

The  vexation  of  the  ladies  who  had  contributed  to  raise  her 
to  this  unexpected  elevation  was  extreme.  They  had  not 
suspected  Madame  de  Montesson  of  so  much  ambition  or 
principle,  nor  had  they  thought  to  find  a  superior  where  they 


40  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

only  wished  for  an  equal.  They,  however,  derived  some  con- 
solation from  the  fact  that,  though  the  kins;  acknowledged  her 
as  the  legitimate  wife  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  he  refused  her 
the  rank  and  titles  of  her  husband.  Madame  de  Montesson, 
consequently,  abstained  from  going  to  court.  The  Count  of 
Guines  received  the  embassy  of  Berlin  for  his  share  in  the 
intrigue,  and  Madame  de  Genlis  owed  to  the  joint  efforts  of 
her  aunt  and  her  husband,  a  place  in  the  household  of  the 
young  Duchess  of  Chartres  then  recently  married. 

Madame  de  Montesson,  not  being  recognised  as  Duchess 
of  Orleans,  attempted  to  shine  by  her  talents.  She  gained  an 
unfortunate  degree  of  notoriety  from  the  number  of  bad  plays 
she  wrote.  They  were  admired  by  her  friends,  and  hissed  by 
the  public  :  this  ill  fortune  afforded  her,  however,  the  oppor- 
tunity of  acting  with  great  spirit  and  dignity.  She  was 
advised  not  to  acknowledge  the  authorship  of  the  unsuccessfid 
comedies,  and  thus  to  screen  herself  from  ridicule ;  but  she 
firmly  refused,  lest  some  other  person  might  be  suspected. 
.  Madame  de  Montesson  might  be  a  bad  authoress,  but  she  was 
a  very  clever  and  agreeable  woman  ;  she  sang  and  played 
well,  and  even  in  her  old  age  excelled  in  flower-painting,  of 
which  she  has  left  some  masterly  specimens.  She  understood 
several  sciences,  spoke  with  grace  and  elegance,  and  was  an 
admirable  actress  ;  in  consequence  of  which,  private  theatricals 
were  her  favourite  amusement.  These  qualifications,  joined 
to  high  rank,  great  wealth,  and  polished  manners,  caused  her 
house  to  be  considered  one  of  the  most  pleasant  in  Paris ; 
even  though  the  guests  were  sometimes  obliged  to  praise,  and, 
what  was  more  difficult,  to  listen  to  her  tedious,  heavy  come- 
dies. When  Voltaire  visited  Paris  in  the  year  1778,  he 
solicited  with  great  eagerness  the  favour  of  being  admitted 
to  one  of  the  private  performances,  in  which  she  acted  with 
the  Duke  of  Orleans.  The  request  was  granted,  and  the  old 
poet  shewed  his  gratitude  by  applauding  until  the  fall  of  the 
the  curtain.  The  duke,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  wife,  then 
advanced  towards  the  box  of  Voltaire  ;  who,  with  the  extreme 
and  ludicrous  vivacity  which  characterised  him  even  in  old 


MADAME  DE  GEXLIS.  41 

age,  knelt  down  to  receive  the  prince  and  Madame  de  Mon- 
tesson. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  died  in  17S5.  Louis  XVI.,  somewhat 
ungraciously,  forbade  Madame  de  Montesson  to  wear  deep 
mourning  for  her  husband.  She  retired  to  a  convent,  where 
she  spent  the  time  of  her  widowhood.  When  she  reappeared 
in  the  world,  it  was  to  signalise  herself  by  her  benevolence. 
During  the  severe  winter  of  the  year  178S,  she  converted  her 
hothouses  into  asylums  for  the  poor.  There  they  not  only 
received  a  shelter  from  the  intense  cold,  but  were  fed  and 
employed  at  her  expense.  It  is  said  that  this  generous  act 
was  not  forgotten  by  the  people,  and  enabled  Madame  de 
Montesson  to  pass  unscathed  through  the  evil  days  of  the 
French  Revolution. 

As  ambitious  as  her  aunt,  and  far  more  talented,  Madame 
de  Genlis  was,  in  the  mean  while,  laying  the  basis  of  her 
future  reputation.     She  had  excellent  opportunities  of  doing 
so  in  the  household  of  the  young  Duchess  of  Chartres,  with 
whom  she  soon  became  as  great  a  favourite  as  her  husband 
was  with  the  Duke.     The  Duchess  of  Chartres,  though  virtu- 
ous, and  wholly  devoted  to  her  unworthy  husband,  was  also 
young,  beautiful,  and  fond  of  pleasure.     Almost  all  her  ladies 
of  honour  were  handsome  and  witty  ;  they  formed  a  very  gay 
little  court,  much  frequented  by  foreigners  of  distinction,  and 
by  those  members  of  the  French  aristocracy  who  preferred  the 
freedom  of  the  Palais-Royal  to  the  old  stateliness  of  Versailles. 
The  Duchess  of  Chartres,  in  thus  establishing  a  court  of  her 
own,  only  aimed  at  amusement ;  her  husband  entertained  far 
deeper  views.     The  unbounded  indulgence  of  those  excesses, 
which  had  left  their  indelible  traces  on  his  once  noble  and 
handsome  features,  had  not  erased  from  the  mind  of  the  young 
duke  the  hereditary  talent,  pride,  and  jealousy  of  his  race. 
He  was  disliked  by  Marie  Antoinette  and  Louis  XVI. ;  he 
hated  them  in  return.     If  his  errors  were  great,  he  felt  they 
were  not  more  flagrant  than  those  of  the  king's  brother,  the 
Count  of  Artois.     Yet  he  was  pointed  out,  almost  exclusively, 
to  public  scorn.     Disappointed  ambition  heightened  the  re- 


42  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

sentment  of  wounded  pride.  Louis  XVI,  with  the  policy  of 
his  predecessors,  refused  to  grant  the  Duke  of  Chartrcs  the 
high  posts  and  the  influence  which  he  claimed. 

The  elements  of  a  vast  opposition,  social  and  not  yet  politi- 
cal (for  the  government  was  still  absolute)  pervaded  the  whole 
of  society ;  the  irritated  prince  gathered  them  within  his 
grasp,  and  led  the  movement.  He  soon  became  the  model  of 
fashion  with  the  young  and  profligate  nobles;  the  women 
admired  his  recklessness  and  daring ;  the  court  feared  him ; 
the  people,  flattered  by  his  courtesy,  remembered  the  traditions 
which  foretold  a  high  destiny  for  his  house  :  in  those  tradi- 
tions it  is  said  that  he  himself  had  a  superstitious  faith. 
Thoughtless  young  men  and  clever  women  became  the  chief 
agents  of  his  ambitious  designs.  He  was  quickly  and  instinc- 
tively attracted  by  the  wit,  beauty,  and  supple  intriguing 
spirit  of  Madame  de  Genlis.  The  very  pointed  attentions 
he  paid  her  gave  rise  to  some  rumours  unheeded  by  the 
guileless  Duchess  of  Chartres.  The  Count  of  Genlis  betrayed 
not  the  least  jealousy.  In  the  year  1776,  the  Duke  of 
Chartres,  with  the  consent  of  his  wife,  confided  to  Madame  de 
Genlis  the  education  of  his  infant  daughters ;  and,  some  time 
afterwards,  named  her  gouverneur  of  his  sons. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  errors  of  Madame  de  Genlis, 
or  the  nature  of  her  connexion  with  the  father  of  the  children 
whose  instruction  she  undertook,  she  at  least  educated  them 
as  few  French  princes  had  been  educated  since  the  time  of 
Fenelon.  "  She  made  them,"  said  an  eminent  historian,  "  not 
princes,  but  men."  The  numerous  works  on  education  which 
she  composed  for  their  benefit  procured  her,  at  the  same 
time,  an  extraordinary  degree  of  reputation.  Buffon,  who 
affectionately  gave  her  the  name  of  "  daughter,"  once  compared 
her  style  to  that  of  Fenelon ;  and,  alluding  to  the  moral  tone 
of  her  writings,  enthusiastically  styled  her  "an  angel  of 
light !"  The  education  which  Madame  de  Genlis  gave  to  her 
pupils,  whilst  leaving  them  all  the  elegance  and  graces  of  their 
high  rank,  was  eminently  calculated  to  render  them  popular 
at  a  future  time.     This  was  done  intentionally.     The  duke 


LA  FAYETTE.  43 

and  the  governess  needed  not  much  penetration  to  perceive 
the  increasing  power  awarded  to  liberal  ideas.  A  signal 
instance  was  afforded  by  the  immense  influence  which  the 
American  "War  of  Independence  exercised  towards  this  period 
over  public  opinion  in  France. 

All  the  latent  republican  tendencies  of  the  nation  burst 
forth  with  sudden  and  unexpected  energy.  The  sympathy 
with  the  insurgent  Americans  was  so  strong  and  universal  as 
to  alarm  the  king  and  queen ;  though  they  both  favoured  the 
American  cause.  In  this  matter,  as  in  many  other  respects, 
their  personal  feelings  were  wholly  at  variance  with  their 
policy.  Joseph  II.,  the  brother  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  a 
reforming  and  philosophic  sovereign,  had,  however,  tact 
enough  to  perceive  that  it  ill  became  an  absolute  monarch, 
like  his  brother-in-law,  to  assist  and  countenance  republican 
insurgents.  He  was  sojourning  at  Versailles  at  the  time 
when  the  American  question  proved,  even  in  the  royal  palace, 
the  all-absorbing  topic  of  every  conversation.  A  lady  asked 
his  opinion  on  the  subject :  "  I  must  decline  answering,"  he 
replied :  "  my  business  is  to  be  a  royalist."  The  young 
Marquis  of  La  Fayette,  who  was  then  only  eighteen  years  of 
age,  observed  not  the  same  caution.  He  spoke,  at  the  circle 
of  the  queen,  openly  and  enthusiastically  in  favour  of  the 
American  cause.  Marie  Antoinette  greatly  resented  his  indis- 
cretion. She  instinctively  hated  a  war  waged  by  the  people 
against  royalty. 

Young,  wealthy,  and  the  bearer  of  a  noble  name,  La  Fayette 
might  have  aspired  to  the  first  offices  of  the  court ;  he  pre- 
ferred to  these  vain  distinctions  the  dangers  and  the  glory  of 
a  foreign  war  in  favour  of  freedom  and  independence.  In 
spite  of  the  opposition  of  his  family,  and  notwithstanding  the 
displeasure  of  government,  he  openly  declared  that  he  at 
least  would  unite  his  standard  to  that  of  the  Americans.  A 
considerable  number  of  the  young  French  nobles  shared  his 
ardour,  and  followed  him  across  the  Atlantic,  eager  to  shed 
their  blood  in  the  cause  of  plebeian  liberty.  The  enthusiasm 
which  animated  the  whole  nation  at  this  epoch  would  now 


44  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

appear  excessive  and  almost  incredible.  It  is  not,  however, 
so  difficult  to  understand  it  on  reflection.  Imbued  as  they 
were  with  republican  and  philosophic  doctrines,  the  French 
had  yet  no  politics  of  their  own.  Their  energies  were  wasted 
away  in  the  unproductive  warfare  of  literature,  or  in  vain 
drawing-room  discussions.  Dreams,  aspirations  towards  the 
future,  brilliant  and  fruitless  theories,  were  the  only  real 
occupation  of  daring  and  intelligent  men,  who  blushed  and 
murmured  at  the  childish  inactivity  to  which  they  were  con- 
demned. The  American  war,  by  engrossing  every  mind, 
acted  as  a  temporary  palliative  ;  but,  whilst  so  doing,  it 
fanned  the  internal  flame  which  then  consumed  the  very 
heart  of  France.  The  freedom  denied  at  home  was  at  least 
worshipped  abroad  :  every  token  of  admiration  for  America 
and  her  heroic  deliverers  was  an  indirect  but  energetic 
protest  against  the  enslaved  condition  of  France,  and  the 
blind  neglect  of  her  rulers.  The  noble  La  Fayette  became 
the  hero  of  the  day  :  his  bust  was  seen  everywhere ;  his 
name  was  pronounced  by  all  with  respect  and  enthusiasm. 

The  extreme  popularity  of  the  young  and  chivalrous  noble 
was  divided,  and  possessed,  perhaps,  even  in  a  greater  degree, 
by  the  plain  Quaker,  Franklin.  When  the  American  printer 
appeared  in  the  Parisian  circles,  with  his  prim  Quaker  dress, 
unpowdered  hair,  and  plain  round  hat,  the  contrast  his  sober 
attire  offered  to  the  rich  and  brilliant  costume  worn  by  both 
sexes  produced  an  extraordinary  impression  on  the  still 
frivolous  society  of  the  period.  The  Quaker  garb  henceforth 
became  identified  with  primitive  virtue  and  republican  sim- 
plicity. The  quaintness  of  the  doctor's  manners ;  his  shrewd- 
ness, sagacity,  and  good  sense ;  the  calm  firmness  of  his 
patriotism,  were  all  idealised  by  the  women ;  whose  en- 
thusiasm greatly  contributed  to  his  success.  Franklin  bore 
his  good  fortune  with  great  equanimity.  "  The  account  you 
have  had  of  the  vogue  I  am  in  here,"  he  observes  in  one  of 
his  letters  to  his  American  friends,  "has  some  truth.  Per- 
haps few  strangers  in  France  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
so  universally  popular.     I  hope  to  preserve,  while  I  stay,  the 


POPULARITY  OF  FRANKLIN.  4H 

regard  you  mention  of  the  French  ladies;  for  their  society 
and  conversation,  when  I  have  time  to  enjoy  them,  are  ex- 
tremely agreeable."  He  is  still  more  explicit  in  a  letter  to 
his  daughter  : — "  The  clay  medallion  of  me  you  say  you  gave 
to  Mr  Hopkinson,  was  the  first  of  the  kind  made  in  France.  A 
variety  of  others  have  been  made  since  of  different  sizes,  some 
to  be  set  in  the  lid  of  snuff-boxes,  and  some  so  small  as  to  be 
worn  in  wrings ;  and  the  number  sold  is  incredible.  These, 
with  the  pictures,  busts,  and  prints,  (of  which  copies  upon 
copies  are  spread  everywhere,)  have  made  your  father's  face 
as  well  known  as  that  of  the  moon ;  so  that  he  durst  not  do 
anything  that  would  oblige  him  to  run  away,  as  his  phiz 
would  discover  him  wherever  he  should  venture  to  shew  it." 

There  is  no  exaggeration  in  the  account  given  by  Franklin 
of  his  popularity.  Though  the  queen  scarcely  concealed  her 
astonishment  at  the  enthusiasm  he  excited,  the  Parisian  ladies 
gave  him  several  splendid  fetes,  at  which  all  the  elite  of 
French  society  assisted.  On  one  of  those  occasions,  the  most 
beautiful  among  the  three  hundred  women  present  crowned 
the  patriotic  doctor  with  a  laurel  wreath,  and  then  kissed  him 
on  either  cheek.  His  bust  was  not  only  seen  everywhere 
with  that  of  La  Fayette,  but,  even  at  the  exhibition  of  Sevres 
porcelain,  which  took  place  in  the  palace  of  Versailles,  medal- 
lions of  Franklin,  bearing  the  legend, 

"  Eripuit  ccelo  fulmen 
Sceptrumque  tyrannis," 

were  publicly  sold.  Everything  became  a  la  Franhlin  and  a 
la  Washington.  The  celebrated  dancer,  Vestris,  who  styled 
himself,  in  his  Provencal  dialect,  le  diou  de  la  danse,  and  who 
openly  declared  that  the  age  had  only  produced  three  great 
men — Frederick,  Voltaire,  and  himself! — condescended  to 
assume  the  name  and  character  of  Washington,  when  the 
rebellious  opera-dancers,  who  were  then  quarrelling  with  their 
director,  formed  themselves  into  a  congress  (sic)  at  the  house 
of  Mademoiselle  Guimard. 

Whilst  in  the  triumph  of  America  France  already  hailed 
her  own  revolution,  she  bade  a  last  farewell  to  the  chiefs  ttf 


46  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

the  old  sceptic  philosophy  and  the  new  democratic  theories, 
Voltaire  and  Rousseau ;  who  died  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
1778,  within  a  month  of  each  other. 

After  an  absence  of  twenty-seven  years,  and  in  the  eighty- 
fourth  year  of  his  age,  Voltaire  once  more  visited  Paris.     It 
was  decided  that  he  should  not  be  received  at  court.     Marie 
Antoinette,  less  strictly  devout  than  her  husband,  regretted 
being  unable  to  behold  one  of  the  most  illustrious  men  of  his 
age.     Voltaire  was  amply  compensated  for  this  slight  of  the 
court    by    the    extraordinary   honours   with    which   he   was 
everywhere    else   received.     He  no  sooner  appeared  in  the 
theatre  where  his   last    piece,  "  Irene,"  was  acted,  than  the 
whole  audience  rose  and  greeted  him  with  long  and  enthusi- 
astic acclamations.     When  the  tragedy  was  over,  the  author's 
bust  was  discovered  on  the  stage,  and  crowned  with  laurel, 
amidst  repeated  bursts  of  applause.     Few  men  ever  had  a 
more  passionate  love  of  renown  than  Voltaire,  and  few  had 
their  desire  so  entirely  fulfilled.     Overpowered  with  emotion, 
-  he  rose  at  length,  on  trembling  limbs,  and  prepared  to  depart. 
His  countenance  was  wasted  and  pale,  but  his  fine  dark  eyes, 
now  filled  with  tears,  had  preserved  all  their  former  softness 
and  brilliancy.     Men  of  the  highest  rank,  and  the  most  noble 
and  beautiful  women,  crowded  around  him  as  he  left  his  seat, 
and  literally  bore  him  down  to  his  carriage.     "  Do  you,  then, 
want  to  kill  me  with  joy  ? "  he  exclaimed,  addressing  those 
who  surrounded  him.     He  was  led  home  by  an  enthusiastic 
crowd,  bearing  lighted  torches,  so  that  all  might  behold  once 
more  the  idol  of  France.     The  streets  resounded  with  shouts 
of  triumph  as  the  poet  passed  by. 

A  few  weeks  after  receiving  these  memorable  honours,  Vol- 
taire died,  on  the  30th  of  May  1778.  The  clergy  refused  to 
bury  him  ;  and,  whilst  his  name  was  on  every  lip,  the  govern- 
ment forbade  his  death  to  be  mentioned  in  the  public  journals 

a  strange  instance  of  the  wilful  blindness  of  those  by  whom 

France  was  then  ruled. 

A  month  after  the  death  of  Voltaire  occurred  that  of  Rous- 
seau.    No  lofty  and  dazzling  triumph  awaited  the  obscure  end 


DEATHS  OF  VOLTAIRE  AND  ROUSSEAU.       47 

of  the  apostle  of  democracy.  Surrounded  by  the  few  friends 
whom  his  misanthropic  temper  had  not  yet  wholly  estranged, 
he  felt  the  hand  of  death  stealing  upon  him  at  the  close  of  a 
lovely  summer's  day.  "  Let  me  behold  once  more  that  glori- 
ous setting  sun,"  was  his  last  request ;  and  with  his  dying 
glance  turned  towards  the  western  horizon,  he  passed  away 
from  life,  his  last  look  greeted  by  those  pure  harmonies  of 
creation  in  which  alone  his  feverish  and  troubled  spirit  had 
ever  found  repose. 

Though  Rousseau's  death  produced  no  visible  sensation  in 
French  society,  he  left  behind  him  a  spirit  far  more  potent 
than  that  of  Voltaire.  To  destroy  creed  had  been  Voltaire's 
chosen  mission :  to  create  a  new  society  was  that  of  Rousseau. 
On  these  two  principles  rested  the  whole  theory  of  the  French 
Revolution. 


CHAPTER  TV. 

UNPOPULARITY  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE — FAVOURS  SHEWN  TO 
MADAME  DE  POLIGNAC — HER  SOCIETY ILL  FEELING  BE- 
TWEEN MADAME  DE  GENLIS  AND  THE  QUEEN. 

The  American  war,  the  visit  of  Voltaire  to  Paris,  Ms  triumph 
and  death,  gave  a  powerful  impulse  to  public  opinion.  When 
America  was  entirety  free,  and  when  peace  had  been  concluded 
with  England,  this  impulse  was  strongly  felt.  The  attention 
of  all  then  reverted  to  the  internal  state  of  France ;  which 
had,  in  the  meantime,  grown  extremely  critical. 

Louis  XVI.  was  sincere  and  honest :  he  really  intended  to 
fulfil  the  hopes  excited  by  his  accession  to  the  throne  ;  but 
those  hopes  were  so  extravagant,  they  implied  so  complete  a 
change  in  every  existing  institution,  that  he  soon  considered 
the  task  of  radical  reform  beyond  his  power.  He  sought,  how- 
ever, to  remedy  desperate  evils  with  temporary  palliatives; 
whilst  the  nation,  irritated  against  the  old  abuses,  daily 
manifested  a  more  impatient  and  uncontrollable  spirit.  With- 
in the  first  year  of  his  reign,  when  the  joy  it  had  excited  was 
still  at  its  height,  there  lurked  through  all  this  enthusiasm  a 
secret  feeling  of  discontent.  In  almost  all  the  towns  of 
France,  serious  riots,  occasioned  by  the  high  price  of  corn, 
broke  forth.  Seditions  and  violent  placards,  urging  the  people 
to  revolt,  were  every  morning  torn  from  the  walls  by  the 
watchful  police.  Severe  measures  were  taken  to  repress  this 
revolt :  a  few  men  were  hanged  ;  the  people  subsided  once 
more  into  their  sullen  silence,  and  the  whole  of  this  plebeian 
affair  soon  sank  into  oblivion. 

With  the  choice  of  his  ministers  arose  the  first  embarrass- 
ment of  Louis  XVI.  The  power  of  D'Aiguillon  fell,  of  course, 
with  Madame  du  Barry.     The  young  queen,  possessed  as  yet 


POLITICAL  DISSENSIONS.  49 

of  no  influence,  vainly  sought  to  reinstate  Clioiscul.  Her 
husband  would  not  hear  of  the  favourite  of  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour. In  this  dilemma,  the  young  monarch  consulted  his 
aunts,  Mesdames.  The  fate  of  France  then  hung  on  the 
caprice  of  four  women,  who  had  never  been  allowed  the  least 
political  power,  and  whose  principles  were  directed  by  the 
liking  or  aversion  they  had  conceived  for  the  ministers,  whom 
the  whim  of  their  father's  mistresses  successively  raised  to 
office.  They  hesitated  for  some  time  between  two  ex-minis- 
ters, Machault  and  Maurepas.  Machault,  severe  and  honest, 
had  made  numerous  enemies  at  court  ;  Maurepas,  a  gay  and 
brilliant  courtier,  had  been  disgraced  for  composing  a  satirical 
song  against  Madame  de  Pompadour  ;  Mesdames  decided  in 
his  favour.  The  frivolous  old  man,  to  whom  age  could  not 
impart  its  wisdom  or  even  its  gravity,  was  once  more  called 
to  power.  The  king  also  sought  the  assistance  of  Malesherbes 
and  Turgot,  both  members  of  the  philosophic  party.  They 
were  talented  and  zealous,  but  too  intolerant  and  exclusive. 
Their  attempts  at  premature  reform  only  raised  them  a  host 
of  enemies  ;  and  the  men  who  sought  no  less  than  to  regene- 
rate a  whole  nation,  fell  before  paltry  court  intriguers.  This 
philosophic  power  was,  nevertheless,  a  step  taken  in  the  right 
direction,  since  it  acknowledged  the  supremacy  of  public 
opinion.  The  reforming  ministers  employed  pamphleteers  to 
expose  and  defend  their  opinions,  and  adopted  other  indirect 
methods  of  ascertaining  how  far  the  current  of  general  feeling 
lay  in  their  favour.  The  publicity  thus  given  to  the  minis- 
terial measures  also  occasioned  very  important  debates  in 
society.  Neckcr,  seconded  by  his  wife,  acted  a  leading  part 
in  those  discussions  ;  for  serious  dissensions  divided  even  the 
philosophic  party.  Necker  early  opposed  the  plans  of  Turgot; 
a  circumstance  which  obtained  him  the  favour  of  those  nobles 
whom  the  severity  of  Tuigot's  principles  had  alienated.  The 
women,  according  to  their  custom,  took  an  active  share  in  this 
controversy,  discussed  political  economy  at  their  toilet,  and 
dogmatically  established  the  supremacy  of  whatever  opinions 
they  chose  to  favour. 

70L.  II.  D 


50  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Marie  Antoinette  also  interfered  in  these  important  matters, 
but  not  with  much  judgment  or  success.  Her  sympathies  for 
Choiseul  first  led  her  to  favour  the  reformers ;  she  was,  how- 
ever, soon  disgusted  with  their  severity.  The  partisans  of  the 
old  system  of  government,  who  accused  her  of  inducing  her 
husband  to  confide  too  exclusively  to  the  economists,  urged 
her  to  unite  herself  to  Maurepas,  in  order  to  overthrow  Turgot. 
She  did  so,  and  effected  her  object :  for  already  had  she 
gained  over  her  weak  husband  that  fatal  power  which  is 
linked  with  almost  every  error  in  the  history  of  his  reign. 

For  a  long  time  the  dazzling  beauty  and  winning  grace  of 
Marie  Antoinette  had  remained  powerless  over  the  calm  and 
phlegmatic  Louis  XVI.  He  allowed  her  no  influence  what- 
ever during  the  first  year  of  his  reign.  Mesdames,  it  is  said, 
had  prejudiced  him  against  his  wife, — the  pledge  of  the 
hated  Austrian  alliance.  The  young  monarch,  like  them, 
instinctively  distrusted  Marie  Antoinette.  He  knew  so  well 
her  passionate  attachment  for  the  house  of  Austria,  that, 
whenever  any  affair  relative  to  it  had  to  be  transacted,  he 
anxiously  recommended  his  ministers  not  to  mention  the 
matter  to  the  queen.  However  great  her  power  may  have 
been  subsequently,  it  is  certain  that  she  could  never  exercise 
it  either  in  favour  of  Choiseul  or  of  her  Austrian  relatives. 
"When  the  native  coldness  of  Louis  XVI.  had  been  once  sub- 
dued, he  granted,  however,  considerable  influence  to  his  young 
and  beautiful  wife.  After  she  had  given  heirs  to  the  throne,  the 
queen  thought  herself  justified  in  interfering  with  political 
matters  more  openly  than  she  had  done  till  then.  From  the 
moment  that  this  was  perceived  to  be  the  case,  her  popularity 
rapidly  declined.  It  was  still  at  its  height,  when  her  brother, 
Joseph  II.,  visited  France,  in  the  year  1777.  They  went 
together  one  night  to  the  opera,  and  entered  the  theatre  as 
the  actors,  who  performed  Gluck's  "  Iphigenia,"  were  singing 
the  chorus — 

"  Chantons,  celebrons  notre  reine,"  &c. 

When  Marie  Antoinette  appeared  in  her  box  the  whole 
house    seized    the    apropos,    and    enthusiastically    repeated 


UNPOPULAEITY  OF  THE  QUEEN.  51 

"Ghantons,  cehbrons  notre  reine,"  <fcc.  Overcome  with 
emotion,  the  young  queen  bowed  her  head  between  her  hands 
and  burst  into  tears.  Linked,  as  her  name  is  now  with 
scarcely-paralleled  misfortunes  most  heroically  endured,  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  how  Marie  Antoinette  could  draw  down 
on  herself  the  deep  hatred  which  grew  in  silent  strength  with 
every  year  of  her  unhappy  reign,  suddenly  broke  forth  at  the 
Eevolution,  and  ultimately  led  her  to  the  scaffold.  Minute 
and  almost  trifling  causes  produced  this  result. 

The   qualities   of   Marie  Antoinette   were   of  those  which 
misfortune  calls  forth,  but  which  seldom  shine  in  prosperity. 
Fickle  and  wilful  in  everything,  she  capriciously  favoured  or 
opposed  ministers.     Whilst  the  reformers   were   in  fashion, 
they  had  her  support ;  she  withdrew  it  when  they  had  lost  the 
approbation  of  the  frivolous  coteries  who  guided  her  opinions. 
This   conduct,  with  a    recklessness   dangerous   even   in   a 
queen,  and  a  slight  tendency  to  satire,  added  to  the  number 
of  her  enemies.     Annoyed  at  the  rigid  punctiliousness  of  her 
lady  of  honour,  Madame  de  Nbailles,  she  petulantly  named 
her  "  Madame  l'Etiquette."     The  great  and  powerful  family 
of   the  offended  lady  deeply  resented  this    affront,  and   en- 
tered into  a  secret,  and  finally  an  open,  opposition  against 
the  queen.     Unfortunately  for  his  wife,  the  graver  Louis  XVI. 
did  not  check  her  imprudent   vivacity,  and  allowed  her  to 
indulge,  without  restraint,  in  all  the  gaieties  of  the    court. 
Whilst  the  queen  compromised  the  old  stateliness  of  royalty 
by  too  great  though  innocent  freedom,  Louis  was  absorbed  in 
his  favourite  geography,  or  studying  smith- work  with  a  lock- 
smith named  Gamain ;  who  assumed  with  him  the  tone  and 
all  the  authority  of  a  master.       "  The   king,"  said   Gamain, 
many  years  afterwards,  "  was  good,  forbearing,  timid,  inquisi- 
tive, and  addicted  to  sleep.     He  was  fond  of  lockmaking  to 
excess ;    and  he  concealed  himself  from  the  queen  and  the 
court  to  file  and  forge  with  me.     In  order  to  convey  his  anvil 
and  my  own  backwards  and  forwards,  we  were  obliged  to  use 
a  thousand  stratagems." 

Besides  the  influential  Noailles,  the   queen  estranged  the 


52  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

severe  religious  party,  headed  by  the  Princess  of  Marsan, 
governess  of  Louis  XVI.'s  two  sisters.  This  lady,  offended  at 
the  ridicule  with  which  Marie  Antoinette,  whilst  yet  dauphin- 
ess,  had  spoken  of  the  austere  education  she  gave  her  pupils, 
dwelt,  in  her  turn,  with  some  asperity  on  the  levity  of  the 
young  Austrian  princess  ;  who  found  censors  still  more  severe 
in  the  bosom  of  the  royal  family.  Mesdames,  though  good 
and  amiable  women,  never  liked  their  niece.  She  was  an 
Austrian,  and  she  favoured  Choiseid,  whom  they  detested. 
They  deplored  her  frivolousness,  her  prodigality,  and  especially 
her  influence  over  her  husband ;  which  had  superseded  their 
own.  They  sought  not  to  injure  her,  but  their  ill-repressed 
blame  swelled  the  voice  of  general  murmur.  Her  brother-in- 
law,  Monsieur,  (afterwards  Louis  XVIII.,)  and  his  wife,  Ma- 
dame, proved  more  active  and  formidable  opponents.  They 
envied  the  queen,  and  headed  a  sort  of  secret  court  opposition 
against  her  and  Louis  XVI.  The  Duke  of  Chartres  was  her 
professed  enemy  :  he  hated  her ;  for  to  her  and  her  influence 
he  ascribed  all  the  mortifications  his  ambition  and  pride  had 
endured. 

However  uninteresting  these  trifling  court  matters  may 
justly  seem  at  the  present  epoch,  they  then  possessed  a  vast 
degree  of  importance.  The  wounded  pride  of  Madame  de 
Noailles,  the  discontent  of  Madame  de  Marsan  and  Mesdames, 
the  envy  of  Monsieur,  the  resentment  of  the  Duke  of  Chartres, 
considerably  influenced  public  opinion  with  regard  to  Marie 
Antoinette  ;  and  that  hatred  which  the  people  were  gradually 
taught  to  feel  for  her  very  name,  hastened  the  Revolution, 
and  precipitated  the  fall  of  monarchy.  Each  frivolous  action, 
light  word,  or  look  of  scornful  pride, — each  feeling  of  enmity 
she  had  ever  raised, — bore  their  fruit  in  time  for  the  hapless 
queen.  Evilly  disposed,  however,  as  were  her  enemies,  she 
could  only  blame  her  own  imprudence  if  their  calumnies  took 
effect.  Few  women,  so  critically  placed  as  she  was,  sacrificed 
less  than  Marie  Antoinette  to  the  spirit  of  the  times.  France 
was  an  absolute  monarchy,  but  tempered,  as  a  courtier  once 
observed,   by   songs  aud   epigrams  :    in   other  words,  by  the 


INFLUENCE  OF  MADAME  DE  POLIGNAC  53 

power  of  public  opinion.  If  the  queen  had  secured  this 
mighty  auxiliary  on  her  side,  she  might  well  have  braved  her 
antagonists  ;  but,  proud  in  the  consciousness  of  innocence  and 
sovereign  power,  she  recklessly  allowed  them  to  enlist  every 
class  of  society  against  her  and  her  name.  It  was  for  the 
sake  of  conciliating  a  few  individuals,  and  often  a  female 
favourite,  that  Marie  Antoinette  thus  estranged  influential 
masses.  She  carried  friendship  to  the  height  of  a  passion. 
Her  love  for  the  king,  though  sincere  and  devoted,  could 
not  absorb  all  her  affections.  The  contrast  between  Louis 
XVI.  and  his  beautiful  wife  suggested  many  uncharitable 
thoughts  to  their  courtiers.  Calumny  successively  attributed 
to  the  Count  of  Artois,  the  Duke  of  Lauzun,  and  the  Count 
of  Fersen,  a  share  in  the  favour  of  the  queen.  No  proofs  of 
her  alleged  errors  have  ever  been  produced.  Her  favourite 
attendant,  Madame  Campan,  when  pressed  on  this  subject, 
many  years  after  the  death  of  her  royal  mistress,  confessed 
that  Marie  Antoinette  had  indeed  once  experienced  a  deep 
and  unhappy  attachment,  but  averred  with  solemn  energy 
that  this  involuntary  feeling  had  ever  remained  pure  and 
unsullied.  The  restraints  which  duty  and  self-respect  thus 
imposed  upon  her  feelings,  rendered  the  queen  more  unre- 
served in  the  manifestations  of  her  friendship.  Madame  de 
Maille,  the  Princess  of  Lamballe,  and  Madame  de  Polignac 
successively  attracted  her  notice.  They  were  all  three  gentle 
and  beautiful  women,  but  the  affection  she  felt  for  them 
proved  very  fatal  to  the  popularity  of  Marie  Antoinette. 

.Madame  de  Polignac  was  disinterested,  and  really  loved  the 
queen  for  her  own  sake;  but  she  was  surrounded  by  a  host 
of  needy,  grasping,  and  ambitious  relatives,  who  speculated 
in  a  shameful  maimer  on  the  friendship  of  Marie  Antoinette. 
Titles,  pensions,  favours,  and  lucrative  posts,  were  showered 
down  on  the  happy  favourite  and  her  friends.  Her  sister-in- 
law,  the  Countess  Diana  of  Polignac,  an  ugly,  overbearing 
woman,  generally  detested,  was  said  to  rule  her  completely  ; 
to  instruct  her  every  morning  concerning  her  behaviour  with 
tin;  queen,  and  to  give  her  a  list  of  the  favours  to  be  asked  in 


54  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

the  course  of  the  day.  So  insolent  did  this  Countess  Diana 
become,  that  even  the  gentle  Princess  Elizabeth,  to  whom  she 
was  lady  of  honour,  could  not  endure  her  tyranny;  and,  in 
order  to  escape  from  her,  took  refuge  at  Saint-Cyr.  It  was 
only  on  the  personal  intercession  of  Louis  XVI.,  who  shared 
all  his  wife's  weakness  for  the  Polignacs,  that  harmony  was 
restored  between  Madame  Elizabeth  and  her  imperious  attend- 
ant. 

The  lucrative  favours  bestowed  on  the  Princess  of  Lam- 
balle,  and  especially  on  Madame  de  Polignac  and  her  friends, 
caused  much  jealousy  at  court.  The  proud  and  powerful 
Noailles  looked  down  with  haughty  displeasure  on  their  up- 
start rivals.  The  political  power  which  Marie  Antoinette 
granted  to  the  Polignacs  was  viewed  with  equal  disfavour  by 
all  those  who  could  not  hope  to  share  in  it.  If  she  ruled  the 
king,  the  Polignacs  ruled  her.  Necker,  in  the  account  he 
subsequently  gave  of  his  second  ministry,  complained  that 
the  measures  he  proposed  to  the  king  had  to  be  submitted  to 
the  queen,  the  princes,  Madame  de  Polignac,  her  friends,  and 
even  to  Marie  Antoinette's  femme  de  chambre,  Madame 
Campan,  before  they  could  be  carried  into  effect.  Marie 
Antoinette  was,  however,  friendly  to  Necker.  She  sought  to 
prevent  him  from  resigning  in  1781  ;  but  it  was  by  employing 
personal  entreaty,  and  not  by  obtaining  fur  him  the  post  he 
had  asked,  and  which  his  services  certainly  deserved.  When 
Necker  had  resigned  his  authority,  the  queen  desired  to  have 
a  private  interview  with  him,  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  him 
to  remain  in  office.  A  crowd  of  distinguished  persons  waited 
at  the  door  of  her  apartment,  in  order  to  learn  the  result  of 
her  interference.  She  soon  came  forth,  with  a  sad  and 
troubled  countenance  :  "  He  refuses  absolutely!"  she  said 
with  a  sigh.  Necker's  resignation — the  work  of  Maurepas — 
was  indeed  considered  in  the  light  of  a  public  calamity. 
Marie  Antoinette — offended  perhaps  at  not  having  conquered 
the  resolve  of  the  austere  Gencvese,  and  probably  influenced 
by  her  friends — capriciously  withdrew  her  favour  from  Necker, 
and  strenuously  opposed  his  recall  at  a  later  period. 


SOCIETY  OF  MADAME  DE  POLIGNAC.  55 

A  vague  consciousness  of  her  failing  popularity,  the  know- 
ledge of  the  great  social  power  which  women  then  possessed, 
and  the  wish   of   sharing   in   this  influence,   induced  Marie 
Antoinette  to  open  to  her  friends  the  drawing-room  of  Madame 
de  Polignac,  to  whom  she  had  given   an    apartment  in  the 
palace  of  Versailles.       "  Here,"    she   often  observed  with  a 
smile,   "  I  am   no  longer  the   queen  :  I   am  myself."       She 
wished  for  the  power  thus  exercised  to  be  exclusively  the 
power  of  the  woman.     But,  beautiful  and  attractive  as  she 
was,  Marie  Antoinette    acted    imprudently   in    thus    casting 
away  the  prestige  of  rank.     She  was  not  sufficiently  brilliant 
or  witty  to  rival  the  women  who  presided  over  the  societies 
of  the  day ;  unless,  indeed,  she  opened,  like  them,  the  saloon 
of  her  friend  to  the  men  :  without  whom  those  societies  would, 
after  all,  have  been  insipid.     She  did  not  do  so  ;  and,  though 
honoured  with  the  royal  presence,  the  society  of  Madame  de 
Polignac   was   accordingly    considered    most   unentertaining. 
The  queen  possessed  little  conversational  talent ;  her  quiet 
friend  had  none — "  For,"  as  the  envious  courtiers  never  failed, 
indeed,  to  remark,  "  the  royal  favourites  were  all  common- 
place women."     This  was  true ;  and  it  confirmed  the  report 
that,  notwithstanding  a  few  happy  repartees,  Marie  Antoinette 
was  not  herself  very  clever  or  intellectual.       She  disliked 
serious  conversation,  and  excluded  it  wherever  she  appeared. 
The  eighteenth  century  never  produced  a  less  Literary  coterie 
than  that  over  which  she  presided.     The  agreeable  Madame 
de  Boufflers,  wishing  to  excuse  herself  from  complying  with  a 
request  addressed  to  her  by  Madame  de  Polignac,  did  so  in  a 
polite   letter,   mingled  with   poetry.      Madame  de  Polignac 
shewed  the  verses  to   her  friends,  who  criticised  them  very 
bitterly.       Their   remarks    being    repeated    to    Madame    de 
Boufflers,  she  replied,  with  a  smile,  "  I  regret  that  they  find 
the  verses  so  bad,  for  the  sake  of  poor  Racine;  for  they  are 
by  him,  and  not  by  me."     Superficial  wits,  like  Rivarol,  were 
received  at  the  soirees  of  Madame  de  Polignac,  in  order  to 
supply  the  deficiencies  of  the  ladies.     When  the  queen  gave 
a  concert,  Gluck  came  to  accompany  her  singing.     The  old 


56  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Duchess  of  Grammont — favoured  on  account  of  her  brother, 
Choiseul — the  Count  of  Artois,  the  Count  of  Vaudreuil, 
Rivarol.  and  the  friends  of  the  Polignac  family,  were  amongst 
the  few  members  of  this  society  ;  which,  with  little  of  the 
wit  of  coteries,  had  their  worst  fault — exclusion. 

The  courtiers  whom  Marie  Antoinette  refused  to  admit 
became  so  many  covert  enemies.  They  spoke  with  great 
bitterness  on  the  impropriety  of  her  conduct  in  thus  mingling 
with  untitled  literary  men,  and  in  singing  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  mere  artist  like  Gluck.  They  said,  and  not  unjustly, 
that  the  evenings  which  Marie  Antoinette  devoted  to  her 
private  amusements  were  abstracted  from  the  court.  Con- 
stituted as  French  society  then  was,  this  was  a  serious  objec- 
tion— one  which,  had  she  not  been  so  imprudent,  would  have 
had  weight  with  Marie  Antoinette.  What,  indeed,  without 
the  presence  of  the  queen,  were  all  the  fetes,  pomps,  pleasures, 
and  boasted  glories  of  Versailles  1  When  Marie  Lecsinska 
adopted,  through  extreme  devotion,  a  course  somewhat  similar, 
her  absence  from  the  court  was  not  felt.  She  was  queen  in 
name  only ;  Madame  de  Pompadour  had  all  the  reality  and 
homage  of  queenly  power.  But  such  was  not  the  case  with 
Marie  Antoinette.  The  king  loved  no  other  woman ;  she 
reigned  alone  over  the  court ;  and  when  she  abandoned  it.  to 
seek  the  quiet  drawing-room  of  Madame  de  Polignac,  the 
courtiers  thought  themselves  justified  in  filling  the  palace 
with  upbraiding  murmurs.  It  was,  indeed,  folly  in  the  queen 
to  think  that  she  could  unite  all  the  power  and  splendour  of 
rank  to  the  ease  and  freedom  of  privacy.  The  discontent  of 
the  noblesse  soon  reached  the  middle  and  inferior  classes, 
between  whom  and  the  upper  ranks  there  now  existed  a  much 
more  rapid  communication  than  of  yore.  Although  beyond 
the  precincts  of  the  court  the  favour  of  Madame  de  Polignac 
could  inspire  no  personal  jealousy,  a  deep  feeling  of  irritation 
was  nevertheless  created  by  the  immense  sums  she  was  sup- 
posed to  draw  from  the  state.  The  favourites  of  kings  had 
seldom  been  popular  in  Prance  ;  but  those  of  queens  had 
always  been  odious. 


BEAUMARCHA1S'  "  MARRIAGE  OF  FIGARO."  57 

Besides  the  courtiers  aud  the  people,  Marie  Antoinette  also 
alienated  a  numerous  and  powerful  class — the  artists  and 
literary  men,  whom  she  neglected  to  patronise.  She  read 
little,  and  only  light  literature.  She,  whose  part  in  history 
was  to  be  so  dark  and  tragic,  never  perused  those  historical 
narratives  whence  she  might,  perchance,  have  derived  a  few 
useful  lessons.  Marie  Antoinette  has  very  erroneously  been 
represented  as  a  learned  and  accomplished  princess.  She 
frankly  confessed  to  Madame  Campan  that  she  had  never 
understood  one  word  of  the  Latin  harangues  she  uttered  in 
Vienna,  and  had  not  even  touched  the  beautiful  drawings 
said  by  Maria  Theresa  to  be  the  production  of  her  favourite 
daughter.  The  courtiers  were  somewhat  mortified  at  the 
queen's  evident  ignorance,  which  all  her  tact  and  grace  could 
not  disguise.  When  she  acted  in  private  theatricals  with  her 
brothers-in-law  and  their  wives,  many  of  the  spectators  ob- 
served, loud  enough  to  be  heard,  that  the  acting  was  royally 
bad,  (royalement  mal  joue.)  The  queen  was  still  more  unfor- 
tunate with  regard  to  those  pieces  which  were  acted  before 
her,  and  first  produced  by  her  command.  In  spite  of  her 
patronage — perhaps  because  they  were  patronised  by  her — 
they  almost  always  fell  before  the  Parisian  audiences.  She 
was  very  keenly  alive  to  the  slight  thus  put  upon  her 
taste,  and  which  probably  arose  from  a  feeling  of  resent- 
ment ;  for  if  Madame  de  Pompadour  had  been  blamed 
for  doing  so  little  in  favour  of  literature,  it  was  neverthe- 
less acknowledged  that  infinitely  less  was  done  by  Marie 
Antoinette. 

The  Polignacs,  though  as  indifferent  as  their  mistress  to 
such  subjects,  once  chose,  however,  to  patronise  an  author  and 
a  comedy  :  the  author  was  the  unprincipled  Beaumarchais — 
the  comedy,  the  cynical  production  known  as  the  "Marriage  of 
Figaro,"  in  itself  the  herald  of  a  revolution.  It  was  a  charac- 
1  ristic  feature  of  the  times,  that  this  play,  which  attacked 
society  and  government  with  an  immoral  degree  of  levity, 
and  yet  with  much  truth  and  power,  should  have  been 
patronised  by  the  friends  of   Marie  Antoinette.     The  censors. 


58  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

having  prohibited  it  from  being  acted,  Beaumarchais  read  the 
piece  to  a  circle  of  influential  friends,  by  whom  it  was  pro- 
nounced  admirable.  Every  one  accordingly  wished  to  hear 
it,  and  every  one,  thanks  to  the  author's  complaisance,  had 
heard  it  ere  long.  Nothing  but  the  prohibited  comedy  was 
spoken  of  throughout  all  Paris.  The  circle  of  Madame  de 
Polignac  was  in  raptures  with  "  Figaro,"  and  incessantly 
teazed  the  king  to  grant  the  permission  for  having  it  per- 
formed. Louis,  who  had  heard  it  in  private,  refused,  and 
sent  a  lettre  de  cachet,  forbidding  even  the  private  perform- 
ance of  the  comedy,  at  the  moment  it  was  going  to-  take 
place  before  an  eager  and  fashionable  circle.  This  prohibition 
excited  the  most  vehement  indignation.  The  king  was  styled 
tyrant  and  oppressor  by  the  very  courtiers  whose  reactionary 
feelings  afterwards  caused  his  ruin.  Beaumarchais  exclaimed 
in  his  anger,  "  The  piece  shall  be  acted,  even  though  it  should 
be  in  the  very  choir  of  Notre  Dame  !"  He  consented,  how- 
ever, to  soften  down  a  few  passages  ;  and,  with  the  aid  of  the 
Vaudreuils  and  the  Polignacs,  succeeded  in  wringing  the  long- 
wished-for  permission  from  the  king.  "  Figaro"  obtained 
almost  unexampled  success ;  and  the  seventy-second  perform- 
ance was  as  crowded  as  the  first.  The  court  did  not  dare  to 
suspend  the  representations  of  the  comedy,  but  unwisely 
imprisoned  the  author  ! 

The  permission  of  acting  the  "  Marriage  of  Figaro "  had 
been  so  reluctantly  granted,  that  no  one  thanked  the  Polig- 
nacs for  their  share  in  obtaining  it.  The  queen,  though  she 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair,  was  blamed  by  those  who 
feared  the  effect  of  the  profligate  comedy.  Whatever  occurred, 
ill  fortune  attended  her  still.  Even  the  encouragement  which 
she  gave  to  music  and  her  countryman  Gluck  was  productive 
of  a  strife  memorable  in  the  annals  of  French  society.  Though 
the  genius  of  Gluck  was  recognised,  the  party  opposed  to  the 
queen  promptly  brought  forward,  as  his  rival,  the  Italian 
PiccinL  Two  inimical  factions  henceforth  divided  the  town. 
In  the  streets,  in  coffee-houses,  private  dwellings,  and  aca- 
demies, the  important  point  was  warmly  discussed.      "Are 


DISLIKE  OF  THE  QUEEN  FOR  MADAME  DE  OxENLIS.      59 

you  a  Gluckist  or  a  Piccinist?"  was  now  a  question  univer- 
sally addressed ;  and,  according  as  the  answer  might  be, 
friendships  were  confirmed  or  angrily  dissolved.  The  quarrels 
of  the  Jansenists  and  the  Molinists,  or  even  those  of  the 
philosophers  and  the  devotees,  had  never  possessed  so  much 
importance,  or  been  marked  with  half  the  acrimony  now 
raised  in  the  name  of  the  gentlest  of  all  arts. 

Gluck  and  music  were  the  only  objects  of  Marie  Antoinette's 
encouragement.  She  neglected  painters  and  their  productions, 
though  both  were  patronised  by  several  of  the  Parisian  ladies. 
Madame  de  Genlis,  in  particular,  was  always  surrounded  by 
some  of  the  most  talented  artists  of  the  day.  Between  this 
lady  and  the  queen  there  unfortunately  existed  a  very  bitter 
animosity.  In  general,  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  like  the 
women  of  her  time,  and  was  not  liked  by  them.  "When  she 
gave  birth  to  her  first  child,  (the  Duchess  of  Angouleme,)  the 
Duchess  of  Chartres,  on  paying  her  the  customary  visit, 
besought  her  majesty  to  accept  the  excuses  of  Madame  de 
Genlis,  who  was  too  ill  to  appear.  Marie  Antoinette  haughtily 
replied  that,  although  the  celebrity  of  Madame  de  Genlis 
might  cause  her  absence  from  court  to  be  noticed,  her  rank 
did  not  authorise  her  to  send  in  excuses.  Madame  de  Genlis 
had  already  been  slighted  by  the  queen,  who  disliked  her 
character,  and  cared  little  for  her  writings  ;  wounded  to  the 
quick  by  this  last  affront,  she  criticised  with  some  acrimony 
the  tastes  and  habits  of  Marie  Antoinette.  The  queen  spoke 
with  equal  asperity  of  Madame  de  Genlis's  conduct  and  lite- 
rary productions.  Courtiers  embittered  the  quarrel.  Those 
who  wished  to  render  themselves  agreeable  to  the  queen  dis- 
covered that  they  could  do  so  by  turning  Madame  de  Genlis 
into  ridicule  ;  whilst  others,  equally  uncharitable,  immediately 
repeated  to  the  authoress  all  the  keen  epigrams  and  satirical 
remarks  uttered,  at  her  expense,  in  the  apartment  of  Marie 
Antoinette.  This  treatment  was  greatly  resented  by  Madame 
de  Genlis,  who  was  easily  irritated,  and  not  so  easily  appeased. 
She  disagreed  with  the  rigid  Madame  Necker,  and  kept  up 
a  vehement    quarrel    with    her   impassioned    daughter;    she 


60  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

wrangled  for  a  long  time  with  the  aristocratic  party,  and 
ultimately  fell  out  with  the  revolutionists.  The  philosophers 
she  held  in  utter  detestation,  since  the  Academy,  instead  of 
bestowing  the  Montyon  prize  on  one  of  her  works,  gave  it 
to  Madame  d'Epinay's  "  Conversations  d'Emilie."  The  old 
Duchess  of  Grammont,  whose  temper  was  probably  soured 
by  disappointed  ambition,  confessed  herself  delighted  at  this 
residt,  and  declared — "  That  she  hoped  Madame  de  Genlis 
would  either  die  of  spite,  which  would  be  a  highly  fortunate 
event,  or  that,  if  she  survived  her  disgrace,  she  would  at  least 
write  a  good  satire  against  the  philosophers,  which  would 
prove  almost  as  amusing." 

Though  Madame  de  Genlis  was  not  generally  liked,  her 
position  and  talents  gave  her  great  influence.  It  would  have 
been  politic  even  for  the  queen  of  France  to  have  secured  her 
good-will :  an  easy  task,  when  a  look  and  a  smile  from  Marie 
Antoinette  were  counted  high  favours  !  But  the  queen  would 
not  stoop  to  conciliation.  She  preferred  braving  the  most 
influential  women  of  the  day  to  the  higher  triumph  of  sub- 
duing them  by  grace  and  gentleness.  The  austere  and  vir- 
tuous Madame  Necker  did  not  stand  higher  in  her  favour 
than  the  pliant  Madame  de  Genlis.  Louis  XVI.  shared  her 
feelings :  he  accused  Necker  of  allowing  himself  to  be 
governed  by  his  wife,  "  who  wanted  to  make  of  France  a 
quarrelsome  republic  like  her  own  Geneva."  This  was  a 
general  impression.  Some  of  the  caricatures  of  the  day 
represented  Necker  sitting  at  his  dinner,  whilst  his  wife 
stood  by  him,  on  account  of  her  infirmity,  and  read  him 
a  moral  treatise.  Madame  Necker  was  far  too  prudent 
to  display  the  open  animosity  of  Madame  de  Genlis,  but 
she  blamed  the  frivolousness  and  imprudence  of  the  queen 
in  language  which,  though  covertly  expressed,  was  far  more 
effective. 

It  is  sad  and  true  that,  though  Marie  Antoinette  could 
inspire  her  chosen  friends  with  feelings  of  heroic  devotednesa 
to  her  person,  she  never  knew  how  to  conciliate  the  general 
sympathies  of  her  own  sex.      Proud  and  mil  lending,  when  she 


DISPOSITION  OP  MARIE  ANTOINETTE  Gl 

saw  her  share  of  popularity  and  social  influence  pass  into  the 
hands  of  other  women,  she  made  desperate  efforts  to  win  back 
the  failing  power ;  but  she  would  never  stoop  to  accept  it 
from  those  whom  a  few  gracious  words  might  have  rallied  to 
her  cause  and  made  her  own  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONFUSED   STATE   OF   FRENCH   SOCIETY — THE  DIAMOND  NECK- 
LACE—  MINISTERS    FAVOURED    BY    THE    QUEEN MADAME 

DE   STAEL — MADAME   DE   CONDORCET. 

On  the  eve  of  her  great  Revolution — that  is  to  say,  from  1781 
to  1789 — France  was  in  that  state  of  confusion  and  disorder 
■which  generally  ushers  in  deep  social  convulsions.  The  most 
opposite  principles  were  recognised  and  adopted  :  fur  in  that 
wide  chaos,  though  there  might  be  much  tumult,  there  was 
as  yet  no  strife.  The  contrasts  which  this  state  of  society 
presented  were  often  full  of  singularity. 

•  The  French  nobles  who  returned  from  the  American  war 
found  the  popularity  of  Franklin  and  Washington  superseded 
by  the  Anglomania.  This  was  only  a  seeming  contradiction. 
The  French  had  willingly  inflicted  a  severe  blow  on  England ; 
but  they  loved  English  freedom  and  constitutional  monarchy. 
Unable  to  enjoy  either,  they  adopted  at  least  English  customs. 
English  clubs,  horses,  racing,  jockeys,  and  even  high  boots  and 
plain  cloth  coats,  were  not  thought  unworthy  of  imitation. 
The  clubs  were  not  political  at  first ;  but,  by  separating  the 
two  sexes,  they  proved  fatal  to  female  influence,  and  changed 
the  spirit  of  society.  It  lost  its  frivolous  polish  :  the  graceful 
effeminacy  which  had  prevailed  so  long  gave  way  to  a  new 
power  and  energy,  well  fitted  to  prepare  the  nation  for  the 
revolutionary  outbreak. 

This  revolution  was  anticipated  by  all ;  but,  unlike  other 
social  contests,  it  was  expected  to  be  both  pacific  and  pure. 
Political  dissentions,  the  blood-stained  scaffold,  foreign  war, 
and  civil  strife,  with  all  the  selfishness,  treachery,  and  fierce 
passions  they  arouse,  were   unsuspected  by  the  enthusiastic 


CONFUSED  STATE  OF  FRENCH  SOCIETY.  63 

innovators.  The  nobles  spoke  of  the  approaching  struggle  as 
of  a  new  fashion  introduced  and  patronised  by  them.  They 
neither  regretted  the  past  nor  feared  the  future.  Surrounded 
by  all  the  privileges  of  feudal  power,  they  had  discarded  its 
flattering  customs  for  the  independence  of  English  manners. 
Their  lands  and  vassals  gave  wealth  and  influence  ;  their  birth 
bestowed  distinctions  unearned  by  toil  and  long  patience. 
They  could  afford  to  be  philosophers,  friends  of  men,  and  even 
democrats.  This  anomaly  was  only  one  of  the  signs  of  the 
times.  Philosophy,  the  spirit  of  old  chivalry,  republican  en- 
thusiasm, licentiousness,  and  vain  affectation  of  sentiment, 
often  characterised  the  same  individual,  even  as  they  charac- 
terised the  whole  nation. 

A  touch  of  mystic  enthusiasm  nevertheless  pervaded  all  this 
confusion  and  levity.  Mesmer,  who  perverted  to  unworthy 
uses  the  phenomena  of  animal  magnetism,  and  Cagliostro, 
whose  wild  assertions  of  supernatural  power  now  excite  only  a 
smile  of  contempt,  found  numerous  disciples  in  the  land  of 
scepticism.  The  name  of  the  latter  notorious  charlatan  then 
bestowed  a  new  interest  on  the  memorable  affair  of  the 
diamond  necklace,  which  brought  in  contact  the  names  of  a 
profligate  cardinal,  a  noted  intriguer,  a  courtesan,  two  common 
sharpers,  and  the  queen  of  France  ! 

The  origin  of  an  event  so  fatal  to  the  fair  name  of  Marie 
Antoinette  as  woman,  and  to  her  dignity  as  queen,  lay  in 
the  enmity  she  had  long  entertained  against  the  Cardinal  de 
Rohan.  She  knew  that,  whilst  he  was  ambassador  at  Vienna, 
the  cardinal  had  opposed  her  marriage  with  the  dauphin,  and 
she  came  to  France  greatly  irritated  against  him.  In  a  letter 
to  D'Aiguillon,  Rohan  ridiculed  the  affected  sorrow  of  Maria 
Theresa  for  the  partition  of  Poland.  D'Aiguillon  shewed  the 
letter  to  Madame  du  Barry  ;  she  took  it  from  him,  and,  being 
then  in  open  hostility  to  the  dauphiness,  communicated  it  to 
all  her  friends.  Marie  Antoinette  understood  that  the  letter 
had  been  originally  addressed  by  the  Cardinal  to  Madame  du 
Barry  herself.  This  wounded  her  to  the  quick-.  When  she 
became  queen,  and  the  ambassador  returned  from  Vienna,  she 


64  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

treated  him  with  marked  disfavour.  It  was  said,  and  believed, 
that  there  also  existed  another  motive  for  this  pointed  aver- 
sion, and  that  the  cardinal — a  vain,  handsome  man,  noted  for 
the  profligacy  of  his  conduct — had  early  conceived  a  passion 
for  Marie  Antoinette,  which  she  perceived,  and  thus  severely 
checked.  Her  coldness  nearly  drove  him  to  despair.  It  was 
in  vain  that,  with  almost  boundless  wealth  at  his  command, 
he  could  revel  in  all  the  luxurious  pleasures  his  unscrupulous 
conscience  so  freely  allowed ;  in  vain  that  he  belonged  to  one 
of  the  first  families  of  the  land,  and  held  the  highest  dieni- 
ties  of  the  Gallican  Church,  with  broad  lands  and  many  fair 
revenues  :  so  long  as  he  lacked  the  sunshine  of  the  queen's 
smiles,  and  Versailles  remained  forbidden  ground  for  him, 
life  was  shorn  of  all  joy  and  delight.  Ten  years  passed  away, 
and  wrought  no  change  in  this  strange  infatuation.  The 
cardinal  caught  distant  glimpses  of  the  queen,  and  hoped 
against  all  hope  for  the  return  of  her  favour,  whilst  she  re- 
lentlessly persisted  in  the  manifestations  of  her  haughty 
displeasure. 

A  clever  intriguing  woman,  named  the  Countess  de  la 
Mo  the  Valois,  who  represented  herself  as  being  descended 
from  the  royal  house  of  Valois,  and  who  was  so  in  reality, 
audaciously  resolved  to  profit  by  this  weakness  of  the  cardinal. 
She  was  pretty,  insinuating,  and  easily  succeeded.  She  made 
him  believe  that  she  secretly  possessed  the  favour  of  the  queen, 
and  offered  to  reconcile  him  to  her.  He  eagerly  accepted,  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  of  justification,  which  Madame  de  la  Mothe 
undertook  to  deliver.  She  soon  returned  him  a  forged  reply, 
in  which  Marie  Antoinette  was  made  to  profess  a  complete 
alteration  in  his  favour,  although  she  declined,  for  prudential 
reasons,  to  see  him  yet,  or  manifest  any  external  change  in  her 
bearing.  The  excess  of  the  cardinal's  joy  rendered  him  even 
more  credulous  than  he  was  by  nature  ;  although  he  believed 
in  Cagliostro,  alchemy,  and  the  philosopher's  stone.  He  had 
seen  Madame  de  la  Mothe  enter  and  leave  the  palace  through 
private  entrances,  and  on  this  authority  he  readily  admitted  all 
that  she  told  him  concerning  her  intimacy  with  the  queen. 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE.  65 

Madame  de  la  Mot  he  derived  considerable  sums  from  the 
Cardinal  de  Rohan,  through  means  of  forged  letters,  in  which 
the  queen  requested  him  to  assist  her  with  various  loans  of 
money  for  acts  of  private  charity.  The  sums,  which  the  de- 
lighted cardinal  eagerly  forwarded,  were  all  intrusted  to 
Madame  de  la  Mothe,  as  well  as  two  hundred  letters  which 
he  addressed  to  Marie  Antoinette.  When  he  at  length  be- 
came  impatient  for  more  substantial  marks  of  the  queen's  good 
graces,  Madame  de  la  Mothe  bribed  a  tall,  handsome  courtesan 
of  the  Palais  Royal,  named  D'Oliva,  to  take  the  part  of  Marie 
Antoinette,  whom  she  greatly  resembled.  This  girl  was  easily 
persuaded  that  the  queen  wished  her,  in  a  frolic,  to  assume 
her  character  in  the  gardens  of  Trianon,  and  exchange  a  few 
words  with  a  nobleman. 

On  a  dark  evening  of  the  month  of  July  1784,  D'Oliva, 
attired  in  white  like  the  queen,  was  introduced  by  Madame 
de  la  Mothe  into  the  gardens  of  Trianon,  where,  seated  in  a 
shaded  bower,  she  awaited  the  approach  of  the  cardinal.  He 
came,  and  sank  down  at  her  feet  in  a  transport  of  joy. 
He  had  only  time,  however,  to  take  a  rose  with  which  she 
presented  him,  and  listen  to  a  few  gracious  words  which  fell 
from  her  lips,  when  her  accomplices  made  a  sound  of  ap- 
proaching footsteps,  and  thus  disturbed  the  interview.  The 
false  queen  rose  in  well-feigned  alarm,  and  hastily  retired, 
having  the  cardinal  chagrined  at  the  brevity  of  this  meeting, 
but  full  of  intoxicating  hopes  ;  for,  in  his  soaring  wishes,  he 
aspired  both  to  the  favour  of  the  queen  and  the  love  of  the 
woman.  The  sums  which  Madame  de  la  Mothe  had  drawn 
from  the  cardinal  enabled  her  to  live  in  handsome  style,  and 
to  persuade  various  persons  that  she  was  really  in  favour  with 
the  queen.  Boehmer,  the  jeweller,  besought  her  to  persuade 
her  majesty  to  purchase  the  necldace  of  magnificent  diamonds, 
which  he  hud  collected  together  with  infinite  toil  and  trouble 
for  Madame  du  Barry.  A  writer,  whose  depth  and  pcnetra- 
tration  have  thrown  much  light  on  this  doubtful  subject,  thus 
elaborately  describes  this  queenly  ornament : — 

"  A  row  of  seventeen  glorious  diamonds,  large  almost  as 

V"L.  II.  K 


66  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

filberts,  encircle,  not  too  tightly,  the  neck  a  first  time.  Looser, 
gracefully  fastened  thrice  to  these,  a  three-wreathed  festoon, 
and  pendants  enough,  simple,  pear-shaped,  multiple  star- 
shaped,  and  clustering  amorphous  encircle  it,  enwreathe  it  a 
second  time.  Loosest  of  all,  softly  flowing  round  from  be- 
hind, in  priceless  catenary,  rush  down  two  broad  threefold 
rows,  seem  to  knot  themselves,  round  a  very  queen  of 
diamonds,  on  the  bosom  :  then  rush  on,  again  separated,  as  if 
there  were  length  in  plenty  ;  the  very  tassels  of  them  were  a 
fortune  for  some  men.  And  now,  lastly,  two  other  inexpres- 
sible threefold  rows,  also  with  their  tassels,  will,  when  the 
necklace  is  put  on  and  clasped,  unite  themselves  behind  into 
a  doubly  inexpressible  sixfold  row  ;  and  so  stream  down,  to- 
gether or  asunder,  over  the  hind-neck,  we  may  fancy,  like 
lambent  zodiacal,  or  aurora-borealis  fire."* 

This  magnificent  necklace  was  worth  1,800,000  livres.  The 
queen  had  several  times  refused  to  purchase  it,  thinking  it  too 
costly  and  profitless  an  ornament.  "  We  have  more  need  of 
seventy-fours  than  of  necklaces,"  she  once  nobly  replied  to 
Boehmer's  earnest  solicitations.  Madame  de  la  Mothe,  to 
whom  he  applied,  seemed  disinclined  to  interfere  in  the  mat- 
ter ;  but  carelessly  hinted  that  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  might 
effect  the  object  he  so  ardently  desired.  She  had  already 
insinuated  to  the  cardinal,  that  Marie  Antoinette  longed  pas- 
sionately for  the  splendid  necklace,  without  daring  to  purchase 
it  openly.  Rohan  eagerly  offered  to  render  her  this  service. 
Many  seeming  difficulties  were  raised ;  but  at  last  Madame 
de  la  Mothe  said  she  had  procured  the  consent  of  the  queen, 
and,  on  the  29th  of  January  1785,  an  agreement  was  drawn 
up  between  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  Boehmer,  by  which 
the  latter  agreed  to  deliver  up  the  necklace  to  the  cardinal  for 
the  sum  of  1, GOO, 000  livres.  This  agreement  was  taken  to 
Versailles  by  Madame  de  la  Mothe,  who  returned  it  with  the 
addition,  Bon — Marie  Antoinette  de  France.  Neither  the 
cardinal  nor  the  court-jeweller  noticed  that  the  words  de 
France — which  belonged  to  the  royal  family  of  France  only 
*  Carlylc's  Essays,  vol,  v.,  p.  20. 


TRIAL  OF  CARDINAL  DE  ROHAN.  67 

— could  not  have  been  used  by  an  Austrian  princess.  On 
the  following  clay  the  necklace  was  delivered  to  Madame  de  la 
Mothe  by  the  cardinal.  Cagliostro,  in  whom  he  placed  great 
trust,  was  consulted  on  this  occasion,  and  prophesied  that  this 
affair  would  end  most  fortunately  for  his  eminence. 

Madame  de  la  Mothe's  husband  in  the  meantime  took  the 
diamonds  to  England,  and  there  parted  with  them  separately. 
Nothing  was  discovered  until  the  first  instalment  became  due. 
The  money  not  being  paid  at  the  appointed  time,  it  was 
claimed  by  Boehmer.  The  queen  denied  all  knowledge  of 
the  necklace ;  an  explanation  ensued,  and  the  matter  was 
immediately  laid  by  Marie  Antoinette  before  her  husband. 
On  the  loth  of  August  1785,  which  was  also  Assumption- 
da}',  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  was  summoned  to  the  royal  pres- 
ence. His  confused  manner  and  hesitating  replies  conveyed 
to  Louis  XVI,  who  shared  his  wife's  prejudices  against  him, 
a  strong  impression  of  his  guilt.  The  shame  of  having  been 
so  grossly  duped  might,  however,  have  explained  the  cardinal's 
bearing.  The  king  ordered  him  to  be  taken  into  custody  • 
he  had  time,  nevertheless,  to  say  a  few  words  in  German 
to  his  attendant,  who  hurried  to  Paris,  and  reached  his 
master's  hotel  before  the  officers  of  justice.  The  most  im- 
portant of  the  cardinal's  papers,  such  as  his  correspondence 
with  Madame  de  la  Mothe,  and  the  forged  letters  of  the 
queen,  were  instantly  destroyed  by  his  confidant,  the  Abbe 
Georgee. 

The  Cardinal  de  Rohan's  trial,  in  which  Madame  de  la 
Mothe,  D'Oliva,  and  Cagliostro  were  also  implicated,  lasted 
nine  months,  and  created  immense  scandal.  The  queen  was 
accused  of  being  the  accomplice  of  Madame  de  la  Mothe,  and 
of  having  joined  in  this  intrigue  for  the  purpose  of  ruining 
the  cardinal ;  who,  instead  of  being  ridiculed  as  a  foolish  dupe, 
was  e]  ted  to  the  dignify  of  a  victim  of  court  machinations, 
and  of  Marie  Antoinette's  implacable  hatred.  The  whole 
ari  tocracy  exclaimed  against  the  enormity  of  bringing  a  man 
of  his  rank  to  trial.  Madame  de  Marsan,  though  nearly 
allied  to  him,  alone  behaved  nobly,  for  she  purchased  and 


68  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

suppressed  one  of  the  numerous  libels  against  the  queen,  to 
whom  this  trait  was  never  even  known. 

The  trial  did  not  only  give  rise  to  the  most  injurious  sur- 
mises against  Marie  Antoinette,  it  inflicted  on  monarchy  a 
deep  irremediable  stain.  The  queen  might  be  pure  as  snow  ; 
but  the  prestige  of  royalty  had  been  broken.  The  Church 
suffered  more  deeply  still  :  the  spectacle  of  one  of  its  first 
dignitaries  leaguing  himself  with  a  man  like  CagUostro,  and 
a  woman  like  Madame  de  la  Mothe,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
favour  of  the  queen  of  France,  was  a  disgrace  which  deeply 
affected  the  sincere  religious  party.  They  felt  that  her  own 
faithless  servants  were  the  greatest  foes  of  religion. 

The  Parliament  acquitted  the  cardinal ;  less,  it  is  said,  from 
a  belief  in  his  innocence,  than  from  a  feeling  of  animosity 
against  the  queen.  On  learning  the  acquittal,  Marie  An- 
toinette wept  bitterly.  How  deeply  must  the  consciousness 
of  her  failing  power  have  come  over  her  then  1  Madame  de 
la  Mothe  was  publicly  whipped  and  branded.  She  afterwards 
escaped  to  England  :  her  end  is  a  mystery  still.  Notwith- 
standing his  acquittal,  the  cardinal  was  ordered  to  retire  to 
Auvergne.  He  afterwards  became  a  member  of  the  Con- 
stituent Assembly,  and  ultimately  emigrated. 

The  tears  which  Marie  Antoinette  shed  on  hearing  of  the 
acquittal  of  De  Eohan  did  not  subdue  her  haughty  temper. 
She  continued  to  place  herself  in  opposition  to  the  general 
will,  until  she  brought  down  on  her  head  the  vengeance  of 
the  whole  nation.  Still  yielding  to  the  advice  of  the  Polignac 
coterie,  she  succeeded  in  having  Calonne  appointed  minister;. 
Dexterous,  unprincipled,  holding  as  his  first  political  dogma, 
that  to  curtail  the  magnificence  (i.e.,  extravagance)  of  royalty 
was  rank  heresy,  Calonne  was  indeed  the  man  after  a  true 
courtier's  own  heart.  Places  and  pensions  were  freely  show- 
ered down  during  his  prodigal  rule  ;  which  hastened — but 
could  scarcely  render  more  certain — the  ruin  of  the  state. 
Calonne  was  at  first  in  great  favour  with  the  queen.  He 
encouraged  her  extravagance,  instead  of  checking  it  like 
Turgot    or    Neckcr.     She    once    sent    to   consult    him    on    a 


M.  DE  SENS.  G9 

financial  matter  of  some  importance.  "Tell  her  majesty," 
be  promptly  replied  to  the  messenger,  "  that  if  what  she  asks 
is  difficult,  it  is  already  done ;  if  it  is  impossible,  it  shall  be 
done."  Thus  encouraged,  the  queen,  notwithstanding  the 
impoverished  state  of  the  finances,  purchased  the  magnificent 
seat  of  Saint  Cloud  from  the  Duke  of  Orleans  :  a  step  which 
was  much  censured.  Ere  long,  however,  she  became  dissatis- 
fied with  Calonne  :  her  pride  was  wounded  at  the  undue 
ascendancy  the  Polignacs  sought  to  exercise  over  her.  She 
perceived  too  late  the  difference  between  a  favourite  and  a 
friend.  She  was  also  hurt  to  see  that  Madame  de  Polignac 
became  cordial  or  distant  in  her  behaviour  according  to  the 
favours  granted  or  refused  to  her  friends.  If  she  loved  her 
still,  it  was  because  she  knew  her  nature  to  be  pure  and  good ; 
but  the  charm  of  her  intercourse  had  vanished.  The  extra- 
vagance of  Calonne  at  length  compelled  him  to  retire  from 
office  :  he  left  the  finances  in  a  deplorable  condition.  It  was 
generally  expected  that  Necker  would  be  recalled ;  but  such 
was  not  the  case.  The  queen  once  more  yielded  to  the  fatal 
advice  of  a  favourite,  and  her  old  preceptor,  the  Abbe  de 
Vermond,  mainly  contributed  to  the  appointment  of  Brienne, 
Archbishop  of  Sens. 

M.  de  Sens,  as  he  was  generally  called,  according  to  the 
custom  which  designated  an  ecclesiastical  dignitary  by  the 
name  of  his  see,  was  a  tall,  handsome  man,  of  stately  presence 
and  courtly  manners,  beneath  which  he  veiled  a  spirit  of  un- 
conquerable ambition  and  pride.  His  conduct  was  dissolute ; 
his  religious  principles  verged  on  atheism.  He  had  urged 
Louis  XVI.  to  check  the  freedom  of  the  press,  and  persecute 
the  Protestants.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  the  philosophers 
whilst  still  Archbishop  of  Toulouse,  and  frequented  the  even- 
ing parties  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lespinasse  and  the  suppers  of 
Madame  du  Dcffand.  When  Mademoiselle  de  Lespinasse 
died,  she  left  him,  as  a  proof  of  her  friendship,  a  few  trifling 
di  bta  to  pay.  The  popularity  of  the  Archbishop  of  Sens  was 
considerable  with  the  women  of  his  time,  and  he  availed  him- 
self of  it  with  infinite  address.      His  brother,  M.  de  Brienne, 


70  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

had  married  a  wealthy  heiress,  on  whose  rich  dowry,  and  the 
archbishop's  ecclesiastical  revenues,  they  lived  with  great  state 
and  splendour  in  the  handsome  castle  of  Brienne.  All  the 
luxuries  of  art  and  wealth  abounded  in  this  magnificent  resi- 
dence. Brienne  was  thronged  with  visitors  ;  men  of  fashion, 
and  the  most  beautiful  women  of  the  day,  hastened  to  enjoy 
the  delights  of  a  place  where  balls,  comedies,  and  even  easy 
lectures  on  natural  philosophy,  were  daily  prepared  for  their 
amusement.  Those  persons  who  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
receive  an  invitation,  and  to  spend  a  few  days  at  this  fairy 
palace,  spoke  of  it  with  enthusiasm,  and  spread  everywhere 
the  renown  of  the  polite  archbishop.  Marie  Antoinette,  with 
her  usual  frivolousness,  concluded  that  the  object  of  this 
general  approbation  must  necessarily  be  capable  of  governing 
the  state,  and  yielded  to  him  her  share  of  influence. 

The  Archbishop  of  Sens  immediately  assumed  the  imperious 
tone  of  a  second  Bichelieu.  His  measures  proved  almost  as 
obnoxious  to  the  nobles  as  to  the  people.  Several  women, 
influenced  by  motives  of  private  pique,  withdrew  their  sup- 
port from  him,  and  contributed  to  his  unpopularity.  Amongst 
these  was  Madame  de  Coigny,  noted  for  her  beauty,  harsh 
voice,  and  caustic  wit.  So  great  was  her  power,  that  Marie 
Antoinette  somewhat  jealously  said,  "  I  am  only  queen  of 
Versailles ;  Madame  de  Coigny  is  queen  of  Paris."  This 
lady  had  spent  some  time  at  Brienne,  and  greatly  desired  to 
act  a  conspicuous  part  in  one  of  the  plays  performed  for  the 
amusement  of  the  guests.  Her  disagreeable  voice  induced 
the  archbishop  to  evade  the  request.  She  never  forgave  him, 
and  became  his  professed  enemy.  After  a  series  of  measures 
which  only  proved  his  total  incapacity  for  affairs,  the  arch- 
bishop ended  by  convoking  the  States-General  (8th  of  August 
1788)  and  retiring  from  the  ministry.  Few  men  in  office  had 
rendered  themselves  so  heartily  detested ;  yet  the  queen,  with 
her  usual  haughtiness  and  imprudence,  affected  to  treat  him 
with  more  favour  than  ever.  Yielding  to  her  earnest  entreaties, 
Louis  XVI.  solicited  and  obtained  from  the  Pope  a  cardinal's 
hat  for  the  discarded  minister  ;  to  whom  Marie  Antoinette 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  71 

sent  her  portrait,  and  addressed  several  letters  expressive  of 
her  friendship  and  esteem.  These  letters  were  subsequently- 
published  in  1789,  and  did  the  queen  infinite  injury.  They 
tended  to  shew  how  opposed  she  was  to  the  spirit  of  reform, 
and  led  many  to  believe  that  her  fatal  influence  might  cause 
her  weak  husband  to  share  in  those  feelings. 

After  the  dismissal  of  the  archbishop,  Necker  was  recalled. 
His  popularity  had  considerably  increased  since  1781.  The 
weakness  of  his  system,  which  consisted  in  reforming  the 
internal  condition  of  France  by  the  administration  suited  to  a 
private  household,  or  to  a  banking-house,  was  not  so  forcibly 
felt  then  as  now,  when  nations  have  passed  through  the  bitter 
experience  of  revolutions.  His  extraordinary  popularity  was 
at  its  height  when  he  entered  on  the  duties  of  his  second 
ministry,  as  the  recognised  advocate  of  the  liberal  principles 
which  agitated  the  whole  of  French  society. 

The  power  of  Necker  was  considerably  strengthened  by  the 
influence  which  his  daughter  was  beginning   to   acquire  as 
Madame  de  Stae'l.     In  1786,  Germaine  Necker,  who  was  then 
in  her  twentieth  year,  married  the  Baron  of  Stae'l-Holstein, 
ambassador  of  Sweden  at  the  French  court.     He  was  a  hand- 
some, commonplace  man,  considerably  older  than  her,  but  his 
rank,  high  birth,  and  Protestant  faith,  recommended  him  to 
her  parents.     Germaine   Necker,   seeing  how  ardently  they 
nred  this  union,  married  M.  de  Stae'l  from  feelings  of  duty. 
Shortly  after  her  marriage  the  new  ambassadress  was  pre- 
sented at  court.     Her  literary  celebrity  caused  her  appearance 
there  to  excite  a  good  deal  of  attention.     It  was  noticed,  as 
an  extraordinary  circumstance,  that  she  missed  one  of  her 
courtesies,  and  that  the  trimming  of  her  dress  was  partly  un- 
ted.     A   few  days  afterwards,    she   paid   a  visit   to   the 
I  >uche     of  Polignac,  and  forgot  her  cap  in  her  carriage  :  she 
was  in  consequence  stigmatised  as  a  very  strange,  eccentric 
woman. 

The  extraordinary  genius  of  Madame  de  Stae'l  was  already 
fully  recognised.  The  Count  of  Guibert,  the  pitiless  lover  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Lespinasse,  was  one  of  her  most  impassioned 


72  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

admirers,  and  thus  portrayed  her,  under  the  name  of  Zulme  . 
— "  Zulme  is  only  twenty  years  of  age,  and  she  is  already  the 
most  celebrated  priestess  of  Apollo.  Her  incense  is  to  him 
the  most  welcome  :  her  hymns  are  those  he  prizes  best.  .  .  . 
Her  large  dark  eyes  sparkle  with  genius ;  her  ebon  hair  falls 
in  waving  locks  on  her  shoulders.  Her  features  are  more 
characteristic  than  delicate,  and  bear  the  impress  of  a  higher 
destiny  than  that  which  usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  her  sex." 

Young  and  striking  in  aspect,  if  not  beautiful, — though 
many  found  beauty  in  her  intellectual  countenance,  lit  up  by  a 
look  in  which  beamed  all  the  inspiration  she  afterwards  as- 
cribed to  her  imaginary  Corinne, — Madame  de  Stael  was  des- 
tined to  exercise  a  more  than  common  power.  She  came  at 
the  time  most  fit  for  the  part  she  took.  Her  passion  and 
energy  would  have  been  superfluous  in  the  frivolous  world  of 
which  her  youth  beheld  the  last  traces,  but  they  suited  well 
the  stormy  times  on  which  France  was  entering.  Her  rank 
and  origin  were  likewise  in  her  favour  :  the  nobly  born  could 
associate  freely  with  the  Swedish  ambassadress  ;  the  liberals 
saw  in  her  the  daughter  of  the  popular  minister,  Necker.  But 
her  genius,  and  its  irresistible  fascinations,  were  arguments 
more  powerful  still.  Ere  long,  the  most  eminent  men  of  the 
day  eagerly  gathered  around  a  woman  whose  admirable  and 
enthusiastic  improvisations  on  political  and  literary  subjects 
held  them  all  spell-bound.  This  display  has  been  censured  as 
unfeminine  in  Madame  de  Stael  :  but  it  was  always  redeemed, 
in  the  opinion  of  those  who  knew  and  heard  her,  by  being  so 
perfectly  unaffected  and  genuine.  It  was  a  great  and  glori- 
ous gift  freely  exercised  :  eloquence  was  a  part  of  her  being ; 
to  divest  herself  of  it  would  have  been  impossible.  M.  de 
Narbonne,  Talleyrand,  the  old  Duchess  of  Grammont,  La 
Fayette,  Sieyes,  Madame  de  Lauzun,  the  Princess  of  Beauvau, 
Madame  de  Poix,  Vergniaud.  and  most  of  the  men  who  after- 
wards became  the  Girondins,  Madame  de  Coigny,  then  in 
open  hostility  with  the  queen,  successively  appeared  in  her 
drawing-room,  and  acknowledged  the  power  of  her  command- 
ing genius.     Tn  vain  did  Madame  de  Genlis  ridicule  her  per- 


#/,*/**    9°/?^    ^^' 


y 


MADAME  DE  CONDORCET.  73 

son  and  her  works,  and  appeal  to  the  praises  of  Buffon  as  the 
test  of  her  own  superiority ;  it  was  felt,  almost  by  intuition, 
that  no  comparison  could  exist  between  these  two  women,  di- 
vided as  they  were  by  the  wide  boundary  which  distinguishes 
genius  from  talent. 

Only  one  woman  seemed  likely  to  share  the  power  of  Ma- 
dame de  Stael,  and  she  owed  this  apparent  equality,  not  to 
her  intellectual  acquirements,  though  they  were  of  no  mean 
order,  but  to  her  beauty,   position,    and  political  principles. 
This  lady  was  Sophie  de  Grouchy,  Marchioness  of  Condorcet, 
born  in  1765,  a  year  before  the  daughter  of  Necker,  and  mar- 
ried, Hke  her,  in  17 86.     Madame  de  Condorcet  was  a  woman 
of  a  daring  and  independent  turn  of  mind,  full  of  talent,  and 
as  exquisitely  beautiful  as  Madame  de  Stael  was  eloquent : 
and  beauty  had  then,  as  it  has  ever,  a  deep  and  winning  elo- 
quence of  its  own.     Madame  de  Stael  was  painfully  conscious 
of  her  personal  deficiencies,  and  often  declared  that  she  would 
give  half  her  genius  to  be  as  handsome  as  Madame  de  Simiane : 
a  lady  noted  for  the  poverty  of  her  intellect  and  the  incom- 
parable loveliness  of  her  face  and  person.     Notwithstanding 
her  beauty,  Madame  de  Condorcet  could  not  have  struggled 
against  the  genius  of  Madame  de  Stael,  had  they  been  rivals ; 
but  such  was  not  the  case.     Their  political  principles,  if  not 
identical,  had  the  same  tendency  towards  freedom.     Madame 
de  Condorcet  had  derived  from  her  husband  all  the  philoso- 
phic and  democratic  principles  which  distinguished  the  dis- 
ciple of  Voltaire  and  the  friend  of  Turgot.     Like  him,  she  was 
enthusiastic  in  the  liberal  cause,  and  favoured  with  all  her 
power  the  progress  of  the  rising  revolution.     She  received  the 
most  ardent  philosophers  and  politicians  of  the  day  ;  and  the 
conversations  which  were  held  at  her  house  were  noted  for 
their  grave  and  abstract  nature.     Condorcet  was  a  man  of 
some  scientific  eminence  ;  his  wife  shared  all  his  tastes,  and 
assisted  him  in  the  literary  portion  of  his  labours.     Notwith- 
standing this  similarity  of  feeling,  they  presented  externally 
a  very  striking  contrast.     Condorcet,  middle-aged,  grave,  and 
cold,  concealed  a  burning  enthusiasm  beneath  this  calm  as- 


74  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

pect,  and  had  been  characterised  by  D'Alembert,  who  knew 
him  well,  as  a  volcano  covered  with  snow.  Madame  de  Con- 
dorcet,  on  the  contrary,  young,  beautiful,  and  excitable, 
abandoned  herself  without  reserve  to  her  political  prejudices, 
and  to  every  passion  of  the  moment.  The  society  which  met 
at  her  house  had  all  the  characteristics  of  the  times.  On  the 
eve  of  a  revolution,  full  of  hope,  energy,  and  daring  thought, 
it  cast  away,  with  proud  disdain,  the  elegant  frivolousness 
which  had  distinguished  it  so  long.  Independence  of  opinion 
and  manner,  ardent  discussions,  and  often  fatal  quarrels,  had 
replaced  the  love  intrigues  and  puerile  amusements  of  a  past 
which  was  never  more  to  return. 

The  extreme  activity  which  pervaded  society  during  the 
last  days  of  monarchy  proved  very  fatal  to  the  court,  and 
especially  to  Marie  Antoinette.  Instead  of  conciliating  the 
influential  women  of  the  day,  she  seemed  determined  to  alien- 
ate them  from  her  cause.  She  had  conceived  a  sort  of 
haughty  dislike  for  Madame  de  Stael, — probably  because  she 
-was  the  daughter  of  Necker, — and  she  displayed  this  feeling 
with  all  her  customary  imprudence.  Madame  de  Stael,  on 
the  other  hand,  did  not  like  the  queen  ;  she  believed  her  to 
be  a  vain  and  frivolous  woman,  whose  folly  was  ruining  the 
state.  No  one  then  foresaw  the  weight  of  misery  beneath 
which  Marie  Antoinette  was  to  expiate  her  errors ;  and  the 
Swedish  ambassadress  used,  in  her  strictures,  a  degree  of  se- 
verity which,  could  she  have  seen  through  the  gloomy  future, 
she  would  have  sorrowfully  forsworn.  Personal  motives,  and 
a  distrust  of  the  queen's  policy,  Avhich  was  then  felt  by  the 
whole  nation,  thus  united  Madame  de  Coigny,  Madame  de 
Genlis,  Madame  de  Condorcet,  Madame  Necker,  and  Madame 
de  Stael,  the  five  most  influential  women  of  the  day,  in  a 
powerful  political  opposition  against  the  queen.  Madame  de 
Stael,  passionately  devoted,  as  she  was,  to  her  father,  deeply 
resented  the  evident  hostility  with  which  he  was  regarded  by 
Marie  Antoinette.  On  the  day  that  he  was  recalled  to  office, 
Madame  de  Stael  went  to  Versailles,  and  the  same  evening 
informed  her  friends,  with  some  bitterness,  that  the  queen  had 


STEONG  FEELINGS  AGAINST  THE  QUEEN.      75 

far  more  graciously  received  Madame  do  Cauisy,  the  niece  of 
the  dismissed  Archbishop  of  Sens,  than  the  daughter  of  the 
recalled  minister.  It  was  impossible  to  know  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, and  not  to  feel  such  conduct  to  be  intentional  ;  and  as 
impossible  not  to  resent  the  slight,  which,  when  she  pleased, 
the  haughty  queen  could  so  well  convey  with  one  disdainful 
glance. 

It  was  more  than  imprudence  in  Marie  Antoinette  to  act 
thus:  it  was  pure  folly.  She  could  not  but  perceive  that  she 
had  lost  both  the  affection  and  the  esteem  of  the  nation.  "  The 
Austrian  woman "  was  the  gentlest  epithet  applied  to  her 
now.  The  Assembly  of  the  Notables,  convoked  by  Calonne, 
shewed  her  that  she  had  nothing  to  expect  but  reproach  and 
insult  from  the  first  orders  of  the  state.  That  these  feelings 
were  shared  by  the  people,  she  could  not  doubt.  Beyond  the 
narrow  circle  of  the  Polignac  coterie,  she  met  everywhere  with 
gloomy  and  estranged  looks.  When  she  walked  in  the  gardens 
of  Saint  Cloud,  the  very  children  followed  and  insulted  her. 
Allusions  against  her  were  eagerly  seized  in  every  theatre; 
and  the  lieutenant  of  police  had  to  beg  that  she  would  no 
longer  come  to  Paris,  as  he  could  not  answer  for  the  conse- 
cpiences  of  her  presence.  Every  class  seemed  bent  on  ascrib- 
ing to  her  the  misery  of  the  nation  :  the  nobles  calumniated 
her — the  people  called  her  Madame  Deficit. 

Marie  Antoinette  bore  all  in  haughty  silence ;  but  every 
insult,  every  proof  of  hatred  she  received,  sank  deeply  in  her 
heart.  Her  beauty,  once  so  fresh  and  dazzling,  gradually 
faded  away  ;  her  cheek  became  pale  and  thin  ;  her  eyes  grew 
dim  with  weeping,  and  with  nights  of  anxious  vigils.  The 
sunny  smile,  which  had  lent  so  great  a  charm  to  her  expressive 
countenance,  visited  it  no  more.  If  she  saw  not  yet  the  terrible 
future,  she  was  haunted  with  the  shadow  of  dark,  foreboding 
thoughts ;  and  a  secret  terror  filled  her  heart  Avhenever  she 
asked  herself  what  fate  awaited  her,  her  husband,  and  her 
children?  Through  every  fear  and  trial,  she  maintained, 
however,  a  bearing  more  composed,  and  more  truly  royal, 
than  that  which  had  marked  the  days  of  her  splendid  pros- 


76  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

perity.  But  though  she  had  the  heroism  which  braves,  Marie 
Antoinette  lacked  the  prudence  which  wards  off  evil.  No 
suffering,  no  danger,  could  subdue  her  wilful  nature.  She 
struggled,  even  unto  folly,  against  the  tide  of  popular  feeling; 
and  her  enemies  read  her  features  well  when  they  said,  that 
through  all  their  traces  of  sorrow,  they  still  bore  the  impress  of 
unconquered  pride.  She  waited  her  fate  undismayed  :  alonp 
against  a  nation. 


PERIOD    THE    FOURTH. 


THE  REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  REVOLUTION  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

TnE  convocation  of  the  States-General — rendered  imperative 
by  the  deplorable  condition  of  the  country — was,  in  itself,  the 
herald  of  a  revolution.  Louis  XVI.  welcomed  this  important 
crisis  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  and  fondly  thought  the  burden 
of  royalty  over.  Marie  Antoinette,  more  clear-sighted  than  her 
husband,  and  far  more  jealous  than  he  was  of  the  privileges 
and  power  of  royal  rank,  learned,  with  an  unusual  degree  of 
agitation,  that  the  convocation  was  granted.  On  the  evening 
of  that  eventful  day,  she  was  standing  in  the  recess  of  a  win- 
dow, with  her  face  turned  towards  the  gardens  of  Versailles. 
The  chef  de  goblet  had  brought  her  a  cup  of  coffee,  which 
she  sipped  abstractedly  ;  her  bearing  was  thoughtful  and 
grave.  She  beckoned  Madame  Campan  to  approach,  and  ob- 
served to  her  :  "  Grand  Dieu  !  what  a  piece  of  news  will  be 
made  public  to-day  !  The  king  grants  the  States-General" 
She  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  with  evident  emotion,  and  con- 
tinued dwelling  on  the  subject.  She  seemed  to  consider  this 
step  as  the  forerunner  of  great  calamities  for  monarchy  and 
France,  and  bitterly  exclaimed  against  the  intrigues  of  the  par- 
liament and  the  nobility,  which  had  reduced  the  king  to  this 
perilous  course. 

But,  deeply  as  she  still  resented  the  conduct  of  an  aristoc- 
racy who  had  both  insulted  and  calumniated  her,  the  queen, 
nevertheless,  sided  with  that  body  in  their  struggle  against 
the  people.  If  anything  could  increase  her  unpopularity,  it 
was  this.  From  the  opening  of  the  States,  the  name  of  "  the 
Austrian  woman"  became  identified  with  falling  despotism. 
To  her  hated  power  every  obnoxious  and  oppressive  measure 


SO  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

was  ascribed  :  often  with  justice  ;  for  gentleness  and  modera- 
tion in  opposing  her  enemies  ranked  not  amongst  the  qualities 
of  Marie  Antoinette. 

On  the  4th  of  May  1789,  the  three  orders  proceeded  with 
solemn  pomp  to  the  church  of  Notre  Dame.  The  procession 
was  magnificent  in  the  extreme.  The  nobles  and  the  clergy 
were  apparelled  with  all  the  splendour  of  old  feudal  dignity ; 
but  the  commoners,  in  their  severe  and  simple  costume,  re- 
presented the  reality  of  power.  The  queen  was  splendidly 
and  royally  attired  for  this  occasion ;  she  was  received  with 
ominous  silence  :  the  only  sounds  that  greeted  her  ears,  were 
cries  of  "  Long  live  the  Duke  of  Orleans  ! "  She  felt  so  deeply 
affected  by  this  premeditated  insult,  that  she  nearly  fainted 
away.  The  thought  of  having  thus  betrayed  her  sensitiveness 
rankled  more  in  her  proud  heart  than  the  affront  itself.  The 
opening  of  the  States  was  hailed  with  different  feelings  by  the 
various  classes  of  the  nation  ;  hope  was,  however,  the  prevail- 
ing mood.  The  daughter  of  Necker,  and  the  wife  of  the 
•minister  Montmorin,  beheld  together  the  procession  from  a 
gallery.  Madame  de  Stael  was  full  of  hope  and  joy,  but  her 
companion  checked  her  transports.  "You  are  wrong,"  said 
she,  "  to  rejoice ;  this  event  forebodes  much  misery  to  France 
and  to  ourselves."  The  words  were  prophetic  :  the  husband 
of  Madame  de  Montmorin  was  massacred  in  the  prisons  on 
the  2d  of  September ;  she  herself  suffered  on  the  scaffold 
with  one  of  her  sons ;  another  was  drowned ;  her  eldest 
daughter  perished  in  prison ;  and  the  youngest,  unable  to 
survive  such  misfortunes,  died  of  a  broken  heart ! 

With  the  States- General  began  that  long  revolutionary 
struggle  which  brought  on  the  fall  of  monarchy ;  but  which 
did  not  end  until,  weary  of  her  own  excesses,  France  at  last 
resigned  herself  to  the  despotism  of  Napoleon.  In  this  con- 
test, of  which  she  became  one  of  the  most  unhappy  and  illus- 
trious victims,  Marie  Antoinette  took  an  active  part,  until  the 
10th  of  August  1792.  During  those  three  years,  the  reckless 
disposition  of  the  queen,  and  the  overwhelming  force  of  cir- 
cumstances, made  her  seek  the  alliance  of  almost  every  party  : 


VIOLENT  OPPOSITION  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  81 

at  first,  in  the  vain  hope  of  checking  the  revolution,  and  when 
that  was  evidently  impossible,  for  the  desperate  necessity  of 
securing,  at  least,  a  temporary  respite.  Whenever  she  was 
personally  exposed  to  danger,  Marie  Antoinette  shewed  herself 
the  heroic  and  fearless  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa  ;  but  in  her 
political  conduct  there  was  neither  heroism  nor  greatness. 
She  opposed  the  revolution  vehemently  and  blindly,  and  with- 
out seeking  to  work  the  salvation  of  royalty  through  any 
Bettled  plan  of  conduct.  By  mere  unflinching  resistance,  she 
hoped  to  couquer  a  revolution  which  the  master  genius  of  a 
Mirabeau  afterwards  vainly  sought  to  subdue.  When  events, 
too  significant  to  be  misunderstood,  shewed  her  the  powerless- 
ness  of  her  efforts,  the  queen  had  not  the  magnanimity  to 
confess  herself  conquered,  and  to  yield  frankly  to  the  revolu- 
tion she  could  not  control.  Too  haughty  and  noble-minded, 
however,  to  stoop  to  conciliate  those  whom  she  hated,  she 
adopted  the  policy  that  might  have  enabled  her  formerly  to 
baffle  court  intrigues ;  she  bribed  a  few  of  her  opponents,  for- 
getting that  her  real  enemy  was  the  nation.  She  considered 
the  revolution  as  the  ambitious  struggle  of  a  few  headlong 
men,  when  it  was  the  awakening  of  a  long-oppressed  people  ; 
she  sought  to  check,  not  to  guide  its  course.  The  narrow- 
minded  coterie  who  had  urged  her  to  the  mistaken  policy  of 
resistance,  soon  abandoned  her  and  Louis  XVI.  to  their  des- 
tiny ;  and,  by  their  intrigues  at  foreign  courts,  exasperated  the 
whole  nation  against  its  sovereigns. 

Marie  Antoinette  began  her  imprudent  course  by  opposing 
Necker,  then  at  the  height  of  his  power.  The  court  party 
detested  him,  as  the  representative  of  liberal  ideas  and  the 
favourite  of  the  people.  The  people  knew  this  well.  When 
Necker  was  attacked,  they  felt  against  whom  the  blow  was 
directed ;  and  they  resented  the  insult  by  deeds  of  wild 
ace,  which  stained  the  pure  cause  of  Hberty.  The  coer- 
cive inc..  ..Inch  the  queen  and  her  advisers  induced  the 
king  t<>  adopt,  on  the  23rd  of  June  1789,  caused  Necker  to 
bi  1 1«  1  in  his  resignation.  On  the  24th,  a  deputation  from  the 
nobility  waited  on  the  king,  the  princes,  and  the  queen,  in 
VOL    II.  It 


82  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

order  to  thank  them  for  their  support.  Marie  Antoinette 
received  them  very  graciously,  and  shewing  them  the  dau- 
phin, whom  she  held  in  her  arms,  told  the  deputies  that  she 
gave  him  to  the  nobility,  and  would  teach  him  to  consider 
that  illustrious  body  as  the  firmest  support  of  the  throne. 
But  so  strong  was  the  popular  feeling  against  those  obnoxious 
measures,  that,  on  the  very  same  day,  Marie  Antoinette  was 
compelled  to  send  for  Necker,  beseeching  him  to  resume  his 
office  and  allay  the  excitement  :  she  promised,  at  the  same 
time,  that  his  advice  only  should  be  followed  in  future.  The 
queen  soon  broke  her  word.  She  was  not  insincere,  but  her 
inconstancy  often  made  her  appear  such.  Weakness  pro- 
duced a  similar  effect  in  her  husband.  Yielding  to  her 
advisers,  she  persuaded  the  king  not  to  grant  any  further 
concessions  to  the  popular  party.  One  of  her  most  partial 
historians*  confesses  that  the  troops  which  were  gradually 
concentrated  around  the  assembly,  in  order,  no  doubt,  to  in- 
timidate it  into  compliance,  were  summoned  there  by  the 
king,  in  pursuance  with  his  wife's  energetic  representations- 
These  measures  were  followed  by  the  sudden  dismissal  of 
Necker  on  the  11th  of  July.  With  a  strange  mixture  of 
weakness  and  audacity,  the  court  party,  though  thus  defying 
the  nation  by  discarding  its  favourite  minister,  did  not  dare  to 
commit  this  act  openly. 

The  king  made  Necker  promise  that  he  would  leave  France 
instantly,  and  without  mentioning  his  departure  to  any  one. 
Necker  obeyed.  He  dined  as  usual  with  his  family  and  his 
friends,  and  talked  with  his  customary  cheerfulness  :  no  one 
had  the  least  suspicion  of  the  truth.  After  dinner  he  com- 
municated the  matter  to  his  wife,  stepped  with  her  into  his 
carriage,  apparently  in  order  to  take  his  daily  airing ;  but  he 
soon  bade  the  coachman  alter  his  course,  and,  having  procured 
a  proper  conveyance,  left  the  kingdom  with  the  utmost  speed 
and  secrecy.  His  departure  was  not  known  even  to  Madame 
de  Stael  until  the  following  day.  The  continued  pouring  in 
of   troops  around  Versailles,   and  the   dismissal    of  Necker, 

*  Weber. 


DANGER  OF  THE  CRISIS.  83 

created  a  profound  sensation  in  Paris.  The  town  was  soon  in 
a  ferment ;  conflicts  with  the  soldiery  took  place ;  the  whole 
people  rose  to  arms  ;  the  Bastile  was  stormed  and  compelled 
to  surrender  on  the  14th  of  July,  and  thus,  three  days  after 
the  attempted  court  reaction,  a  serious  revolution  had  been 
accomplished.  The  king  was  compelled  to  yield  to  the  tide  of 
popular  feeling  :  on  the  15th,  he  proceeded  to  the  assembly, 
made  concessions,  and  was  led  back  in  triumph  to  his  palace. 
In  compliance  with  the  wish  of  the  crowd,  he  appeared  on  a 
balcony  with  his  wife  and  children.  Marie  Antoinette  held 
the  dauphin  in  her  arms  and  embraced  him,  amid  repeated 
cheers.  A  revolution,  illegal  in  form  and  just  in  its  object, 
which  was  the  triumph  of  the  majority  over  the  will  of  the 
few,  was  thus  sanctioned  by  royalty  itself.  But  neither  on 
the  side  of  the  court,  nor  on  that  of  the  people,  was  the  re- 
conciliation sincere.  Threats  against  Marie  Antoinette  and 
Madame  de  Polignac  were  uttered  amidst  the  loud  acclama- 
tions of  the  crowd,  and  the  demagogue,  Saint-Huruge,  was 
heard  menacing  the  throne  under  the  windows  of  the  royal 
palace. 

Marie  Antoinette  knew  well  the  danger  of  the  crisis,  and 
besought  Madame  de  Polignac  and  her  relatives  to  leave  the 
kingdom.  They  immediately  emigrated,  with  the  princes  of 
Conde  and  the  Count  of  Artois.  The  departure  of  Madame  de 
Polignac  deeply  affected  the  queen  ;  she  forgot  their  political 
differences,  and  only  felt  that  the  woman  she  had  once  loved 
passionately,  and  to  whom  she  still  felt  warmly  attached,  was 
leaving  her,  probably  for  ever.  Their  last  interview  was  sad 
and  affecting  :  with  dark  forebodings,  and  unavailing  tears, 
they  parted — to  meet  no  more  on  earth.  On  subsequently 
learning  the  death  of  her  royal  mistress,  the  ex-favourite  died 
of  grief.  So  much  was  the  name  of  Madame  de  Polignac 
detested,  that  she  was  compelled  to  leave  France  disguised  as 
a  femme  de  chambre.  On  passing  through  the  town  of  Sens, 
she  was  stopped  with  her  friends  by  an  excited  crowd,  who 
erly  asked  if  France  had  yet  got  rid  of  the  Polignacs.  The 
travellers   replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  were  allowed  to  pro- 


84  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

ceed.  At  Bale,  Madame  de  Polignac  met  Necker,  who  was 
proceeding  to  Coppet.  From  the  fugitive  favourite,  the  ex- 
iled minister  learned  the  storm  his  banishment  had  raised. 
They  were  still  speaking  of  these  strange  events  when  Necker 
received  two  letters;  one  from  the  monarch,  and  the  other 
from  the  assembly ;  both  recalling  him  to  his  post.  He 
obeyed,  and  his  return  through  France  Avas  one  long  scene  of 
triumph.  When  he  reached  Paris,  and  presented  himself  at 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  he  was  received  with  fervent  enthusiasm. 
It  was  indeed,  "  one  highest  culminating  day,  -with  immortal 
vivats,  with  wife  and  daughter  kneeling  publicly  to  kiss  his 
hand."  It  is  easy  to  imagine  with  what  heartfelt  pride 
Madame  Necker  and  Madame  de  Stael  thus  publicly  paid 
homage  to  the  object  of  their  common  idolatry.  Overpowered 
with  joy  at  her  father's  triumph,  Madame  de  Stael  fainted 
away. 

Whilst  the  people  and  their  minister  thus  triumphed,  the 
court  party  was  filled  with  dismay.  On  the  1 7th  of  July  the 
king  resolved  to  go  to  Paris,  in  order  to  allay  the  popular 
excitement.  The  queen,  although  a  prey  to  the  most  gloomy 
apprehensions,  restrained  her  tears  as  she  saw  him  depart,  and 
shut  herself  up  with  her  family  in  her  private  apartments. 
She  sent  for  some  of  the  persons  attached  to  her  court ;  but, 
seized  with  a  sudden  terror,  they  had  all  fled  from  Versailles. 
A  silence,  deep  and  ominous  like  that  of  death,  now  filled  the 
deserted  palace  ;  where,  with  straining  ear  and  beating  heart, 
Marie  Antoinette  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  couriers,  who 
every  hour  brought  her  news  from  her  husband,  and  reported 
to  her  the  events  of  his  journey.  So  little  did  she  hope  for 
his  return  that,  in  case  he  should — as  she  fully  expected — be 
detained,  she  had  prepared  an  address  for  the  National  As- 
sembly, throwing  herself  and  her  children  on  its  protection, 
and  beseeching,  above  all  things,  to  be  allowed  to  join  the 
king.  Her  joy  on  his  safe  return  from  Paris  was  unbounded ; 
but  even  in  that  moment  of  felicity  wounded  pride  was 
blended  with  all  her  gladness.  A  cloud  passed  over  her 
*  Carlyle— "French  Revolution,"  vol.  i.,  p.  321. 


MILITARY  BANQUET  AT  VERSAILLES.  85 

haughty  brow,  when  she  learned  that  Bailly,  the  new  mayor 
of  Paris,  had  remarked,  in  his  address  to  Louis  XVI., 
"Henry  IV.  conquered  his  people,  and  here  are  the  people 
conquering  their  king."  "  Conquering  ! "  she  repeated  in- 
dignantly. Alas  !  whilst  thus  contesting  the  reality  of  popular 
power,  was  she  not  yielding  to  it  herself]  Was  she  not  com- 
pelled to  dismiss  and  send  from  the  kingdom  even  her  old 
frivolous  Abbe  de  Vermond,  lest  the  mere  fact  of  having  been 
in  her  favour  should  doom  him  to  destruction  1 

The  lesson  which  the  taking  of  the  Bastile  might  have 
inculcated  was  soon  forgotten  by  Marie  Antoinette.  Before 
three  months  had  elapsed,  she  again  attempted  a  reaction, 
which  gave  rise  to  the  disgraceful  events  of  the  5th  and  6th 
of  October  :  disgraceful  alike  for  the  sovereign  and  the  people. 
On  the  23d  of  September  the  regiment  of  Flanders  arrived 
at  Versailles,  and  gave  a  splendid  dinner  to  the  gardes  du 
corps  on  the  1st  of  October.  The  king  granted  them  the  hall 
of  the  opera  for  the  occasion.  The  queen  had  been  urged  to 
appear  and  honour  the  guests  with  her  presence;  but  she 
prudently  declined.  This  judicious  resolve  was  overruled  by 
one  of  the  courtiers.  Towards  the  close  of  the  repast,  when 
the  heads  of  the  revellers  were  heated  with  wine,  the  queen, 
the  king,  and  their  children  appeared  in  the  scene  of  festivity. 
Their  presence  excited  the  greatest  transports.  "  Richard,  0 
man  Roi"  was  enthusiastically  sung,  and  the  health  of  the 
royal  visitors  drunk  amidst  deafening  cheers.  The  usual 
st  to  the  nation  was  intentionally  omitted,  the  tricolour 
cockade  was  trampled  under  foot,  and  the  white  cockade, 
th'  •  of  loyalty,  triumphantly  displayed.     When  intel- 

nce  of  this  banquet,  of  the  insults  to  the  revolutionary 
principles  by  which  it  had  been  accompanied,  and  of  the 
sanction  these  circumstances  had  received  from  the  royal 
presence,  readied  Paris,  the  news  created  a  feeling  of  deep 
indignant  resentment.  As  though  determined  to  make 
matters  -till  worse,  the  court  party  persisted  in  their  folly.  A 
breakfa  fc,  consisting  of  the  fragments  left  from  the  dinner, 
was  given  on  the  2d  of  October  :  the  same  defiant  spirit  was 


86  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

displayed  by  the  guests,  whilst  all  the  court  ladies  busied 
themselves  in  sewing  white  cockades,  which  they  distributed 
to  the  imprudent  partisans  of  absolute  royalty.  This  was  a 
time  of  great  scarcity,  almost  of  famine,  in  Paris.  The  rich 
banquet  given  by  the  regiment  of  Flanders,  the  imprudent 
menaces  of  quelling  the  revolution-  uttered  by  the  officers,  the 
contrast  the  supposed  abundance  and  profusion  of  Versailles 
offered  to  the  misery  of  the  capital,  produced  deep  irritation  ; 
and,  on  the  5th  of  October,  an  insurrection  of  women  took 
place.  It  has  been  asserted  that  this  insurrection  was  pre- 
meditated :  that  the  Orleans  faction  had  directed  it  against 
the  queen's  life,  in  order  to  obviate  the  inconvenience  of  her 
regency,  in  case  the  king  should  be  deposed ;  but  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  movement  was  wholly  spon- 
taneous. 

On  the  morning  of  the  5th  of  October,  a  large  body  of 
women,  consisting  chiefly  of  the  refuse  of  the  populace, 
seized  on  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Headed  by  the  usher  Maillard 
and  Theroigne  de  Mericourt,  they  proceeded  to  Versailles. 
Theroigne  was  a  beautiful  courtesan,  who  acted  a  conspicuous 
part  in  every  insurrectionary  movement  of  those  times.  She 
was  a  native  of  Mericourt,  near  Liege ;  her  parents  were 
farmers  in  easy  circumstances,  and  gave  her  a  good  education. 
She  was  only  seventeen  when  a  nobleman  of  the  neighbour- 
hood seduced  and  soon  abandoned  her.  She  fled  to  England, 
then  came  to  Paris,  saw  Mirabeau,  Sieyes,  Brissot,  Des 
Moulins,  and  Homme,  and  plunged  into  an  agitated  and 
dissipated  life.  From  the  first  she  espoused,  with  passionate 
ardour,  the  extreme  revolutionary  principles.  Dressed  in  a 
red  riding-habit,  with  dark  flowing  locks  beneath  a  hat  and 
plume,  a  sabre  by  her  side,  and  two  pistols  in  her  belt,  she 
headed  every  popular  tumult.  Her  eloquence,  bravery,  and 
recklessness  fitted  her  for  the  part  she  had  chosen.  At  the 
storming  of  the  Bastile  she  appeared  first  on  the  tower  of 
the  fortress;  and  the  conquerors,  struck  with  her  courage, 
decreed  her  a  sabre  of  honour  on  the  breach.  She  now 
placed  herself   foremost  amongst  the  women  on  the  5th  of 


THEEOIGNE  DE  MEEICOURT.  87 

October.  The  band,  amounting  to  several  thousand,  pro- 
ceeded to  Versailles,  apparently  without  any  fixed  object. 
They  insisted  on  seeing  the  king,  and  seized  tumultously  on 
the  hall  of  the  assembly;  but  although  they  manifested  a 
very  riotous  disposition,  they  were  kept  in  tolerable  order. 
Their  threats  against  the  queen  excited,  however,  the  alarm 
of  Louis  for  her  safety,  and  he  earnestly  urged  her  to  depart 
with  her  children ;  but  her  spirit  was  of  that  order  which 
rises  with  the  storm  :  she  firmly  refused  to  abandon  her 
husband.  "I  know,"  said  she,  "that  it  is  my  life  they  seek; 
but  I  am  the  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa,  and  I  have  learned 
not  to  fear  death." 

On  the  morning  of  the  6th,  a  body  of  men  and  poissardes 
proceeded  to  the  badly-guarded  palace.     A  conflict  between 
them  and  the  gardes  du  corps  immediately  began.     With  the 
instinct  of  hatred  the  infuriated  populace  rushed  towards  the 
apartment  of  the  queen  :  she  had  retired  to  rest  at  a  late  hour, 
ordering  her  attendants  to  do  the  same.     They,  fortunately, 
disobeyed,  and  remained  with  their  own  women  seated  near 
her  bed-room  door.     "  About  half-past  four  in  the  morning," 
relates  Madame  Campan,  "  they  heard  horrible  yells  and  dis- 
charges of  fire-arms.     One  ran  in  to  the  queen  to  awaken  her, 
and  get  her  out  of  bed.     My  sister  flew  to  the  place  from 
which  the  tumult  seemed  to  proceed ;  she  opened  the  door  of 
the  ante-chamber  which  leads  to  the   great  guard-room,  and 
beheld  one  of  the  body-guards  holding  his  musket  across  the 
door,  and  attacked  by  a  mob,  who  were  striking  at  him  ;  his 
face  w  as  covered  with  blood.     He  turned  round  and  exclaimed, 
"  Save  the  queen,  madam  :  they  are  come  to  assassinate  her!" 
She  hastily  shut  the  door  upon  the  unfortunate  victim  of  duty, 
fastened  it  with  the  great  bolt,  and  took  the  same  precaution 
on  Leaving  the  next  room.     On  reaching  the  queen's  chamber 
she  cried  out  to  her,  "Get  up,  madam  !  do  not  stay  to  dress 
yourself:  fly  to  the  king's  apartment."     Marie  Antoinette  rose 
in  haste,  and  did  not  escape  without  difficulty. 

When  La  Fayette  had  succeeded  in  clearing  the  palace,  all 
peril  was  not  <>ver  for  the  queen.     She  sat  near  a  window 


88  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

talking  to  M.  de  la  Luzerne,  one  of  the  ministers,  when  a  ball 
from  below,  intended  for  her,  struck  the  wall  close  to  her. 
M.  de  la  Luzerne,  without  seeming  to  heed  this  fact,  rose,  and, 
continuing  his  discourse,  placed  himself  quietly  between  the 
queen  and  the  window.  "  Nay,  sir,"  said  she,  with  dignified 
calmness,  and  signing  him  to  resume  his  seat,  "this  is  not  your 
place,  it  is  mine."  During  the  whole  of  that  dreadful  day  she 
displayed  the  same  lofty  heroism.  On  the  first  sounds  of  the 
conflict,  Necker,  closely  followed  by  his  wife  and  daughter, 
hastened  to  the  palace.  The  people,  in  the  courts  below,  were 
asking  vehemently  that  the  royal  family  should  return  with 
them  to  Paris.  The  king  promised  to  comply,  and  shots  were 
fired  in  token  of  rejoicing.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  the 
queen  appeared  in  the  great  saloon.  Her  fair  and  luxuriant  hair 
fell  in  disorder  around  her  pale  countenance  ;  but  never  had  her 
whole  aspect  borne  the  impress  of  such  commanding  majesty. 
"  Everything  in  her  person  struck  the  imagination,"  observes 
Madame  de  Stae'l.  The  people  asked,  with  loud  shouts,  that 
the  queen  should  appear  on  the  balcony  as  well  as  the  king. 

The  expressive  countenance  of  Marie  Antoinette  betrayed 
what  fate  she  dreaded,  but  she  unhesitatingly  advanced  to- 
wards the  balcony,  between  her  two  children.  The  ominous 
cry  of  "  No  children!"  arose  below  her  from  the  vast  marble 
court,  then  full  of  armed  men.  She  understood  those  fatal 
words,  and  gently  pushing  back  the  children  into  the  apart- 
ment, returned  to  the  balcony,  unprotected  and  alone.  "  Should 
I  die,  I  will  do  it  !"  had  energetically  exclaimed  this  daughter 
of  Maria  Theresa ;  and  with  hands  folded  on  her  bosom  and 
eyes  raised  to  heaven,  she  now  stood  there  awaiting  her  fate, 
in  heroic  and  sublime  resignation.  But  her  hour  was  not  yet 
come  :  years  of  sorrow  were  before  her  still ,  and  a  doom  far 
more  sad,  far  more  bitter  than  the  assassin  could  inflict,  awaited 
the  hapless  queen.  One  man  pointed  his  gun  towards  her, 
but  another  of  his  companions  struck  it  down  :  the  calm 
heroism  of  the  woman  subdued  the  anger  felt  by  the  crowd 
against  the  imprudent  queen  ;  and  when  La  Fayette  stepped 
forward  and  respectfully  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  the  jus- 


HEROISM  OF  THE  QUEEN.  89 

tice  of  the  homage  was  acknowledged  by  a  loud  cry  of  "Vive 
la  Eeine ! " 

When  Marie  Antoinette  left  the  balcony  and  re-entered  the 
saloon,  she  approached  Madame  Necker,  and  said  to  her,  in 
a  voice  rendered  inaudible  by  convulsive  sobs,  "  They  are  going 
to  compel  me  and  the  king  to  return  to  Paris,  with  the  heads 
of  our  gardes  du  corps  carried  on  their  pikes  before  us."  Two 
of  the  gardes  du  corps  had  indeed  been  murdered,  and  their 
heads  were  borne  in  triumph  to  Paris  by  the  poissardes ;  but 
fortunately  not  within  sight  of  the  unhappy  sovereigns.  Be- 
fore leaving  the  royal  palace  of  Versailles  for  ever,  the  queen 
observed,  with  much  emotion,  to  one  of  her  attendants,  "  We 
are  lost :  dragged  away,  perhaps  to  death  :  when  kings  become 
prisoners,  they  have  not  long  to  live."  The  journey  from  Ver- 
sailles to  Paris  lasted  five  hours ;  a  promiscuous  mob  of  men 
and  women  accompanied  the  royal  carriage;  they  shouted, 
sang,  carried  loaves  of  bread  on  their  pikes,  and  exclaimed,  in 
allusion  to  the  king,  queen,  and  dauphin,  "  We  are  bringing 
the  baker,  his  wife,  and  the  little  apprentice."  Notwithstand- 
ing the  fatigue  and  sufferings  of  that  eventful  day,  the  self- 
possession  of  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  desert  her.  The  king, 
on  arriving  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  said  to  the  mayor,  Bailly, 
"  that  he  always  came  with  pleasure  to  his  good  city  of  Paris.'' 
'•'  And  with  confidence,"  quickly  added  the  queen.  They  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Tuileries,  which  had  not  been  inhabited  for  nearly 
a  century,  and  was  in  a  most  dilapidated  condition.  When, 
on  the  following  day,  Marie  Antoinette  received  her  court  and 
the  corps  diplomatique  in  those  dismal  and  antiquated  apart- 
ments, she  could  hardly  speak  for  her  tears.  Those  whom  she 
addressed  were  scarcely  less  moved.  She  apologised  for  being 
obliged  to  receive  her  guests  in  the  room  where  her  children 
had  spent  the  night.  "  You  know,"  said  she,  "  that  I  did  not 
expect  to  come  here."  And  as  she  spoke  thus,  her  fine  and 
irritated  countenance  was  such  as  when  once  seen  could  not 
easily  be  forgotten.* 

Her  beautiful  and  gentle  sister-in-law,  Madame  Elizabeth, 

*  Madame  do  Stall. 


90  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

bore  this  change  with  a  more  serene  resignation.  Although 
this  charming  princess  was  not,  it  is  said,  of  a  naturally  amiable 
disposition,  her  deep  and  sincere  piety  had  so  completely 
eradicated  her  early  defects,  and  imparted  to  her  whole  being 
something  so  holy  and  so  pure,  that,  notwithstanding  her 
youth  and  loveliness,  the  chief  feeling  which  she  inspired  was 
veneration.  Indifferent  to  her  own  fate,  she  was  evidently  not 
so  with  regard  to  the  fate  of  her  brother,  whom  she  loved 
passionately,  and  of  his  wife  and  children.  But  her  anxiety 
for  them  was  tempered  by  religious  submission  :  less  heroic 
than  the  queen,  she  was  not  less  noble  or  devoted. 

Whilst  monarchy  was  thus  rapidly  approaching  its  last 
perilous  crisis,  French  society  was  likewise  undergoing  a 
marked  transformation.  Ever  since  the  opening  of  the  States- 
General,  politics  had  absorbed  every  conversation.  When  the 
greatest  social  questions  were  at  stake,  what  interest  could  be 
felt  in  the  literary  discussions  of  narrow  coteries  1  The  hall 
of  the  National  Assembly  had  become  the  wide  arena  where 
the  struggle  for  power  and  popularity  was  now  carried  on. 
Women  thronged  the  galleries,  as  spectators  of  this  great  con- 
test, and  watched  with  deep  interest  the  last  throes  of  that 
expiring  society  with  which  their  old  power  was  fast  passing 
away.  But  when,  after  the  6th  of  October,  the  assembly  was 
transferred  to  Paris,  the  beautiful  and  high-born  ladies,  who 
had  looked  down  from  the  tribunes  on  the  stirring  scene  below, 
gradually  vanished,  and  were  replaced  by  ferocious  and  hide- 
ous poissardes  ;  who,  from  always  bringing  their  knitting  with 
them,  acquired  the  name  of  tricotteuses.  The  dawn  of  the 
revolution,  and  the  taking  of  the  Bastile  had,  however,  been 
hailed  with  rapturous  enthusiasm  by  the  elite  of  French 
society.  When  the  old  fortress  fell,  its  ruins  offered  a  strange 
and  varied  aspect :  tents  and  cafes  arose,  as  by  enchantment, 
amongst  the  wrecks  of  towers  and  bastions;  fashionable 
women  came  in  their  carriages  to  visit  that  once  gloomy  and 
silent  spot,  now  as  gay  and  crowded  as  Long  Champs.  Here 
the  still  lively  and  brilliant  Madame  de  Genlis  brought  her 
princely  pupils,  to  read  them  moral  lessons  over  fallen  des- 


DECLINE  OF  FEMALE  POWER  91 

potism  :  as  a  proof  of  her  entire  sympathy  with,  the  popular 
cause,  she  afterwards  wore  suspended  around  her  neck  a  minia- 
ture Bastile,  made  of  real  Bastile  sandstone.  Madame  de  Stael, 
Mirabeau,  the  young  Chateaubriand,  then  wholly  unknown, 
likewise  visited  the  last  ruins  of  feudalism.  Statesmen,  actors, 
poets,  artists,  and  men  and  women  of  the  world,  thronged  to- 
gether to  the  place,  amidst  the  din  and  laughter  of  the  work- 
men, who  joyously  demolished  the  vast  edifice.  A  ball  was 
afterwards  given  on  the  spot  where  the  once-dreaded  fortress 
had  stood. 

But  notwithstanding  the  sympathy  which  they  manifested 
for  the  spirit  of  the  revolution,  at  least  in  its  early  stages,  the 
women  of  those  times  exercised  a  very  slight  degree  of  influ- 
ence in  comparison  with  the  power  they  had  formerly  pos- 
sessed. 

For  some  time  Madame  de  Genlis  still  drew  around  her  a 
portion  of  the  most  elegant  society  of  the  times.  Every  Sun- 
day she  received  a  political  and  literary  coterie  in  the  apart- 
ments she  occupied  with  her  pupils  at  Bellechasse ;  but  as 
the  revolution  progressed,  her  circle  gradually  became  nar- 
rower. Those  persons  who  did  not  wish  to  attach  themselves 
to  the  Orleans  faction,  dreaded  her  tact  and  insinuation, 
and  avoided  frequenting  her  saloon.  Many  affected  to  be  re- 
pelled by  her  reputation  for  intrigue,  and  her  enemies — who 
were  numerous  among  the  royalists — industriously  circulated 
reports  most  injurious  to  her  reputation.  These  reports 
were  countenanced  by  the  suspicions  which  the  Duchess  of 
Orleans  had  at  length  expressed  with  regard  to  the  connexion 
between  her  husband  and  the  governess  of  her  sons.  The 
duchess  also  complained  that  the  affections  of  her  children 
were  estranged  from  her  by  Madame  de  Genlis,  whom  she 
accordingly  wished  to  resign  her  functions.  Both  the  duke 
and  the  governess  refused  to  accede  to  this;  the  duchess  was 
loud  in  her  complaints,  and  the  public,  who  esteemed  her  vir- 
tues, and  pitiod  her  for  being  united  to  a  profligate  husband, 
threw  all  the  odium  on  Madame  de  Genlis. 

The  power  of  Madame  de  Stael  and  Madame  de  Condorcet 


92  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

was  likewise  declining.  The  partisans  of  constitutional 
monarchy  rallied  for  a  while  around  the  gifted  daughter  of 
Necker,  but  her  sway  was  as  brief  as  that  of  the  principles 
she  professed.  Madame  de  Condorcet  belonged  to  the  repub- 
lican party,  and  received  men  of  democratic  opinions ;  but, 
although  she  was  visited  by  the  notorious  Anacharsis  Clootz, 
(who  called  himself  the  "  Orator  of  the  Human  Race,")  and 
was  styled  by  him,  in  compliment  to  her  great  charms,  "  the 
Lycean  Venus,"  she  did  not  exercise  a  wide  or  lasting  power. 
When  her  husband  fell  with  the  Girondists,  she  sank  into 
total  obscurity,  notwithstanding  her  talents  and  beauty. 
Though  many  women  figured  in  the  revolution,  there  are  in 
reality  but  three  who  can  be  said  to  have  acted  in  it  a  really 
important  part,  and  whose  names  are  imperishably  linked  with 
the  history  of  their  times.  These  three  women  are,  the  queen, 
whose  long  and  unavailing  struggle  for  monarchy  brought  her 
to  the  scaffold ;  the  republican  Madame  Roland,  who  perished 
with  the  Girondists ;  and  the  noble-minded  Madame  Tallien, 
who  hastened  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  and  avenged  so  many 
pure  and  illustrious  victims.  The  time  for  speaking  of 
Madame  Roland  or  Madame  Tallien  is  not  yet  come,  and  we 
must  now  return  to  Marie  Antoinette.  If,  in  her  political 
conduct,  there  will  be,  as  usual,  much  inconsistency  and  im- 
prudence to  deplore,  yet  shall  we  ever  find  her  sublime  and 
heroic  in  the  hour  of  danger. 


CHAPTER  It 

HAEIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  THE  FALL  OF  TIIE  MONARCHY. 

The  principal  errors  and  misfortunes  of  Marie  Antoinette 
may  be  attributed  to  the  extreme  difficulties  of  her  position. 
As  a  woman,  she  could  exercise  only  an  occult  power,  pecu- 
liarly unsuitable  to  her  open  nature.  Impetuous  and  ener- 
getic, she  was  fit  for  instantaneous  action,  but  ill  adapted  for 
giving  the  calm  counsel  on  which  another  could  act.  The 
hesitating  and  apathetic  temper  of  her  husband  would  alone 
have  sufficed  to  counteract  whatever  good  she  might  have 
effected.  Louis  XVI.  only  knew  how  to  suffer  passively. 
Marie  Antoinette  early  saw  this,  and,  in  spite  of  the  respect- 
ful reserve  with  which  she  always  alluded  to  the  king,  it  was 
easy  to  perceive  that  a  feeling  akin  to  bitterness  rankled  in 
her  mind  when  she  thought  on  the  fetters  of  her  position. 
Could  she  have  acted  freely  and  alone,  the  revolution  would 
have  been  sooner  over  :  she  could  not  have  saved  monarchy  or 
the  monarch,  but  their  fall,  not  being  delayed  so  long,  would 
not  have  been  so  overwhelming  and  so  deep.  But  this  very 
energy  of  Marie  Antoinette — which,  had  she  been  independ- 
ent, would  have  hastened  the  crisis — prolonged  it,  because 
she  was  not  free,  and  gave  it  the  dangerous  aspect  of  a 
struggle.  When  she  had  exhausted  every  form  of  opposition, 
she  perceived  too  late  that  resignation  might  have  been  the 
wisest  course.  There  is  regret  for  past  imprudence  in  those 
words  which  she  addressed,  shortly  before  the  10th  of  August 
1792,  to  one  of  her  confidants:  "As  for  myself,"  said  she, 
after  alluding  to  the  passive  temper  of  the  king,  "  I  could  do 
anything,  and  appear  on  horseback  were  it  needed ;  but  that 


94  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

would  be  furnishing  weapons  to  the  king's  enemies  :  through- 
out all  France  a  cry  against  the  Austrian  and  the  rule  of  a 
woman  would  be  raised  instantly.  By  coming  forward,  I 
should,  moreover,  reduce  the  king  to  a  humiliating  and  in- 
ferior position.  A  queen,1'  she  added  mournfully,  "  who,  like 
me,  is  nothing  in  her  own  right — who  is  not  even  regent 
— has  but  one  part  to  act — to  wait  the  event  silently,  and 
prepare  to  die." 

During  the  three  years  which  elapsed  from  the  events  of 
the  month  of  October  1789,  to  the  fall  of  monarchy  in 
August  1792,  Marie  Antoinette  had  acted  in  direct  opposi- 
tion to  the  principle  of  passive  submission.  The  outrages  to 
which  she  was  subjected,  from  the  moment  that  the  Tuileries 
became  the  residence  of  the  royal  family,  embittered  her 
against  the  revolution  and  its  partisans.  Shortly  after  the 
events  of  October,  she  visited,  with  the  king,  a  large  manu- 
factory in  the  faubourg  Saint-Antoine.  They  were  received 
with  much  enthusiasm.  "  See,  madam ! "  observed  La 
Fayette,  who  accompanied  the  royal  couple,  "  how  good  this 
people  are  when  one  comes  to  meet  them."  "  But  are  they  so 
when  they  come  to  meet  us  ? "  bitterly  asked  Marie  Antoinette. 
The  queen  was  resentful ;  but  she  disdained  vengeance.  A 
prosecution  was  instituted  by  the  Chatelet  against  the  instiga- 
tors of  the  insurrection  of  the  5th  of  October,  and  a  deputa- 
tion waited  on  the  queen,  in  order  to  hear  from  her  lips  an 
account  of  what  she  had  personally  seen  and  suffered.  In 
answer  to  their  inquiries,  she  replied  :  "  I  will  never  inform 
against  any  of  my  subjects.  I  saw  all ;  I  knew  all ;  and  I 
have  forgotten  all." 

The  instinctive  policy  of  Marie  Antoinette  seems  to  have 
been  to  save  the  royal  power  alone.  She  stood  in  equal 
dread  of  the  revolutionists  and  the  emigrants.  To  yield  to 
the  former  was  ruin ;  to  accept  the  aid  of  the  latter  was 
degradation.  She  recoiled  with  distrust  from  either  course, 
until  events  became  too  imperious  to  allow  her  to  persevere  in 
her  aim  at  solitary  influence.  We,  accordingly,  find  her 
alternately  holding   conferences  with  Mirabeau,  Barnave,  and 


INTERVIEW  WITH  MIKABEAU.  95 

even  Danton;  or  placing  in  foreign  intervention  her  only 
remaining  hope  of  safety.  Her  characteristic  and  interest- 
ing connexion  with  Mirabeau  began  in  the  month  of  May 
1790.  It  would  have  commenced  much  earlier,  but  for  the 
scruples  of  the  king;  who  objected  to  form  even  a  private 
alliance  with  a  man  so  notorious  for  his  immorality.  Marie 
Antoinette,  more  clear-sighted  and  less  rigidly  scrupulous 
than  her  husband,  at  length  overcame  his  objections. 

The  first  interview  of  the  queen  and  the  great  orator  had 
all  the  mystery  of  romance.  One  evening,  in  the  month  of 
May,  Mirabeau  left  Paris,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  riding 
to  the  country  house  of  his  friend  Claviere  ;  but  he  soon 
turned  towards  Saint  Cloud,  entered  the  park  by  a  private 
entrance,  and  found  the  queen  waiting  for  him,  alone,  in  a 
shady  and  retired  spot.  "  With  a  foe  of  ordinary  capacity," 
said  she,  "  with  an  everyday  enemy,  I  should  now  be  guilty 
of  a  very  foolish,  a  very  injudicious  step :  but  with  a 
Mirabeau  ! " —  The  grace,  dignity,  and  energy  of  the  queen 
produced  a  powerful  impression  on  Mirabeau.  "With  a 
woman's  ready  tact  she  noticed  this,  and  also  observed  to 
Madame  Campan  that  the  expression  of  "  a  Mirabeau,"  which 
she  had  employed  intentionally,  had  not  failed  in  its  desired 
effect.  The  close  of  their  interview  alone  is  known.  "  Ma- 
dame," then  exclaimed  Mirabeau,  "  whenever  your  illustrious 
mother,  Maria  Theresa,  honoured  one  of  her  loyal  subjects 
with  an  interview,  she  never  suffered  them  to  depart  without 
according  to  them  her  royal  hand."  The  queen,  with  a 
queen's  grace,  held  forth  her  hand ;  Mirabeau,  with  a  king's 
dignified  elegance,  knelt  and  fervently  kissed  it  :  that  kiss 
shot  strength  through  his  frame,  and,  starting  to  his  feet,  he 
cried,  with  native  self-confidence, — 

"Madam,  the  monarchy  is  saved !  "  * 

This  meeting  gave  Mirabeau  a  high  opinion  of  the  queen. 
He  emphatically  observed  to  Dumont :  "  She  is  the  only  man 
of  the   family  ! "  an    expression  which   Napoleon  afterwards 

*  "  Mirabeau  :  A  Life-History,"  p.  221,  vol  ii. 


96  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

borrowed,  and  applied  to  Marie  Antoinette's  daughter,  the 
Duchess  of  Angouleuie.  Mirabeau  also  perceived,  that  to  act 
on  the  king  it  was  necessary  to  influence  his  wife,  since  she 
alone  could  rouse  him  to  action.  It  was,  therefore,  to  Marie 
Antoinette  that  he  addressed  his  advice  and  correspondence, 
and  gave  detailed  explanations  of  his  plans  for  the  restoration 
of  monarchical  power.  That  he  even  intended  her  to  act  a 
conspicuous  part  in  carrying  out  his  projects,  is  apparent  by  a 
phrase  which  occurs  in  one  of  his  letters  :  "  The  moment  may 
come  when  it  will  be  necessary  to  see,  that  which  we  may 
see,  on  horseback,  a  woman  and  a  child :  these  are  family 
traditions,  familiar  to  the  queen."  The  noble  nature  of  her 
new  ally  strongly  attracted  Marie  Antoinette ;  but  she  had 
scarcely  sufficient  firmness  of  purpose  to  adhere  to  his  plans. 
She  consulted  Mirabeau,  as  she  consulted  so  many  others,  in 
the  vain  hope  of  deriving  the  desired  benefit  from  their  advice, 
without  binding  herself  to  follow  it  implicitly. 

A  year  after  the  commencement  of  their  intercourse, 
Mirabeau  died,  and  whatever  hopes  the  queen  might  have 
founded  on  his  aid,  perished  with  him.  He  died,  happily  for 
his  fame,  at  the  precise  time  when  his  powerlessness  to  allay 
the  storm  he  had  helped  to  raise  would  have  been  felt ;  but 
though  his  hie  could  not  have  stayed  the  revolutionary 
torrent,  his  death  contributed  to  accelerate  its  course.  From 
that  moment  the  position  of  the  royal  family  became  daily 
more  precarious.  The  king,  with  his  habitual  indecision, 
knew  not  which  party  to  favour.  More  fearless  and  energetic, 
Marie  Antoinette  held  all  concessions  weakness,  and  hated 
disguise  with  all  the  force  of  a  frank  nature.  To  smile  on 
those  she  disliked,  and  not  to  dare  to  favour  those  she  loved, 
was  a  moral  thraldom  she  could  not  endure.  She  lonsred  to 
break  her  chains;  to  conquer  back  that  royal  sceptre,  which 
had  escaped  from  her  husband's  feeble  hand ;  and  to  subdue 
that  stern  revolution,  which  had  begun  with  insulting  her 
name  and  threatening  her  life.  The  dangers  which  surrounded 
her  husband,  her  children,  and  herself,  strengthened  her  resolve. 
She  was  in   constant  expectation  of   seeing  her  apartments 


FLIGHT  OF  THE  EOYAL  FAMILY.  97 

invaded  by  the  populace.  A  sound  of  musketry,  which 
appeared  to  come  from  the  palace  itself,  one  night  roused 
Louis  XVI.  from  his  slumber.  He  hastened  to  the  queen's 
apartment ;  it  was  vacant  :  he  proceeded  further,  and  found 
his  wife  by  the  dauphin's  bed,  clasping  the  child  in  her  arms. 
"  I  was  at  my  post,"  she  calmly  observed,  in  reply  to  his 
inquiries.  The  alarm  proved  to  be  false  :  but  such  was  the 
state  of  anxiety  in  which  Marie  Antoinette  lived.  The  royal 
family  at  length  resolved  upon  flight  :  a  fatal  and  imprudent 
step. 

Marie  Antoinette  intrusted  the  conduct  of  this  important 
enterprise  to  the  Count  of  Fersen,  a  young  and  chivalrous 
Swede,  who  had  conceived  a  romantic  passion  for  the  beauti- 
ful captive  queen.     His  sovereign,  Gustavus  III.,  had  already 
proclaimed  himself  her  knight,  and  vowed  to  defend  her  ;  the 
Count  of  Fersen  endeavoured  to  save,  at  least,  the  life  of  the 
woman  he  loved.     His  measures  were  at  first  attended  with 
great  success.     On  the  night  of  the  20th  of  June  1791,  the 
members  of  the  royal  family,  all  carefully  disguised,  left  the 
palace  by  different  issues.     Their  flight  was  not  discovered 
until   the   next  morning.      Favoured  by  this  advance,  the 
fugitives  might  have  reached  their  place  of  destination  in 
safety,  if  they  had  not  been  recognised  by  Drouet,  the  son  of 
a  postmaster,  who  caused  them  to  be  intercepted  at  Varennes. 
In  spite  of  their  protestations,  they  were  compelled  to  alight 
at  the  house  of  the  syndic,  a  grocer  named  Sausse.     It  was 
night ;    but  the  positive  assertions  of  Drouet,  and  the  char- 
acteristic  features    of   both    the  sovereigns,   betrayed   them. 
Louis  XVI.,  still  persisting  in  denial,  was  rudely  contradicted 
by  the  men  around  :  with  that  strong  sense  of  dignity  which 
.  er  deserted  her,  Marie  Antoinette,  seeing  that  all  was  over, 
stepped  forward,  and  addressing  Sausse  and  his  companions, 
authoritatively  observed :    "  Since  you  acknowledge  him  for 
your   sovereign,    treat   him   as   such."     Her   look    and  tone 
silenced  tluj.-:c  men.      Louis,   casting  aside  all  disguise,  con- 
fessed his  rank,  and  begged  not  to  be  detained ,  representing 
the  evils  that  would  accrue  to  the  country  from  that  detention. 
VOL.   II.  G 


98  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

But  it  was  in  vain  that  the  king  pleaded  and  commanded  by 
turns  ;  in  vain  that  the  queen,  now  haughty  no  longer,  weep- 
ingly  begged  of  Madame  Sausse  to  remember  her  feelings  as 
a  wife  and  a  mother,  and  intercede  with  her  husband.  Tears 
and  entreaties  proved  useless,  and  the  royal  family  retired  to 
a  narrow  room  above  the  shop  to  spend  the  night  :  but  not 
to  rest.  In  that  night  the  fair  hair  of  Marie  Antoinette 
turned  white  with  grief. 

It  was  a  melancholy  journey  for  the  fugitives  from  Varennes 
to  Paris.  The  shouts  and  execrations  of  the  people  accom- 
panied them  all  the  way.  An  old  nobleman  having  approached 
the  royal  carriage,  and  expressed  his  sympathy  for  those 
within  it,  was  murdered  before  their  eyes.  A  priest  would 
have  shared  the  same  fate,  but  for  the  interference  of  Bar- 
nave,  one  of  the  two  deputies  sent  by  the  National  Assembly 
to  protect  the  king.  Young,  eloquent,  and  popular,  Barnave 
had  figured,  since  the  opening  of  the  States,  as  the  rival  of 
Mirabeau,  and  the  vehement  opponent  of  the  court.  Pethion, 
Avho  shared  his  present  mission,  was  likewise  a  member  of 
the  left,  and  a  republican ;  as  he  informed  the  king  he  was 
bringing  home  a  captive.  The  two  deputies  sat  in  the  same 
carriage  with  the  royal  family.  Pethion  behaved  with  rude 
insolence ;  Barnave  with  unfeigned  sympathy  and  respect  : 
he  gazed  with  surprise  on  the  woman  he  had  judged  from  the 
reports  of  her  calumniators ;  he  saw  her  beautiful  and  digni- 
fied in  her  queenly  sorrow,  and,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
generous  heart,  he  secretly  vowed  to  protect  and  defend  her. 
There  is  not,  perhaps,  a  circumstance  more  honourable  to 
Marie  Antoinette  than  the  passionate  admiration  which,  with- 
out effort,  she  inspired  in  men  of  every  rank  and  party,  when- 
ever they  could  approach  her.  Her  power  was  gone ;  tears  and 
suffering  had  faded  her  once-dazzling  loveliness  :  the  devoted- 
ness  she  excited  was  not  paid  to  the  woman  or  to  the  queen  ; 
it  was  the  instinctive  tribute  which  a  fine  and  generous  nature 
must  always  call  forth.  During  the  whole  of  the  journey  home- 
wards, she  behaved  with  a  courage  and  self-possession  which 
increased  the  admiration  of  Barnave.      She  calmly  alighted 


PLANS  OF  BARN  AVE.  99 

at  the  Tuileries,  regardless  of  the  hootings  of  the  populace ; 
and,  unconquered  even  in  that  hour,  haughtily  refused  the 
offered  protection  of  the  Viscount  de  Noailles,  one  of  the 
members  of  the  aristocracy  who  sided  -with  the  people. 

The  unsuccessful  flight  to  Varenncs  greatly  aggravated  the 
position  of  the  royal  family.  They  were  so  closely  watched, 
that  it  was  only  by  stealth  the  queen  could  see  her  husband. 
National  guards  remained  in  her  room,  even  at  night,  and 
she  protested  in  vain  against  this  gross  indecency.  Notwith- 
standing this  close  surveillance,  she  found  means  to  com- 
municate with  Barnave.  Alone,  in  an  obscure  room  of  the 
palace,  she  often  waited  whole  hours  for  the  young  deputy, 
with  her  hand  on  the  lock  of  the  door.  The  sincerity  of 
Barnave's  devotcdness  had  deeply  touched  Marie  Antoinette. 
She  sympathised  with  his  youth,  his  talent,  and  even  with  the 
ambition  which  had  proved  so  fatal  to  her.  Whilst  she 
declared,  "  that  she  could  never  forgive  the  nobles  who  had 
commenced  the  revolution,  she  excused  the  young  commoner 
for  having  ardently  embraced  a  cause  which  opened  a  path  to 
his  legitimate  ambition."  The  long  and  Madame  Elizabeth 
shared  those  feelings.  The  queen  did  not,  however,  adopt 
the  plans  of  Barnave.  He  proposed  constitutional  prudence 
and  moderation  ;  but  for  this  Marie  Antoinette  instinctively 
and  justly  felt  that  it  was  now  too  late.  Had  this  plan  been 
adopted  earlier,  with  all  sincerity  and  truth,  the  revolution 
might,  perhaps,  have  been  checked,  and  the  constitution 
firmly  established.  We  say  perhaps;  for  on  examination,  it 
is  difficult  to  avoid  perceiving  that  the  revolution  was  merely 
a  political  struggle  for  freedom  and  rights  long  denied :  it 
was  a  social  war  of  the  suffering  and  exasperated  masses 
linst  their  former  oppressors.  A  constitution  which  fet- 
ed them  with  a  king,  and  checked  the  progress  of  the 
revolution,  was  therefore  as  little  acceptable  to  an  immense 
number  of  individuals,  as  it  was  distasteful  to  the  sovereigns 
then  The    party   of  the  constitutionalists   and   tho 

moderates  was,  however,  large  and  powerful:  and  it  might 
have  held  back  the  democratic  element,  but  for  the  violence 


100  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

of  the  royalists,  the  constant  hesitation  of  Louis  XVI.,  and 
the  reactionary  tendencies  of  the  queen.  Owing  to  these 
auxiliaries,  the  nation  lost  all  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  constitu- 
tional monarchy,  and  was  ripe  for  a  republic  by  the  time  the 
constitution  was  finished. 

The  queen  was,  therefore,  both  more  practical  and  more 
clear-sighted  than  Barnave,  when  she  rejected  as  useless  his 
plan  of  adhering  faithfully  to  the  constitution  ;  but  she  erred 
in  thinking  a  reaction  possible.  After  sacrificing  his  popu- 
larity to  the  royal  cause,  Barnave  had  the  mortification  to 
perceive  that  the  sacrifice  had  been  made  in  vain,  and  that 
the  queen  now  relied  exclusively  on  the  aid  of  emigrants  and 
foreigners.  Marie  Antoinette  reluctantly  adopted  this  course. 
She  had  never  loved  the  aristocracy,  and  she  well  knew  the 
degree  of  favour  and  submission  they  would  expect,  if  they 
succeeded  in  quelling  the  revolution.  A  few  months  after 
the  dissolution  of  the  National  Assembly,  Barnave  left  Paris, 
and  parted  from  the  queen.  She  assured  him  that,  in  the 
event  of  a  reaction,  he  should  still  possess  her  friendship  and 
esteem.  Barnave  mournfully  pointed  out  the  fallacy  of  her 
hopes ;  told  her  he  knew  that  he  had  risked  his  head  in  her 
cause,  and  risked  it  in  vain  ;  but  enthusiastically  added,  that, 
so  far  from  repenting  aught  he  had  done,  he  should  hold 
himself  fully  repaid  if  she  would  only  grant  him  the  honour 
of  pressing  to  his  lips  her  royal  hand.  The  queen,  with  much 
emotion,  extended  her  hand  towards  him  :  he  seized  and 
kissed  it  fervently.  Thus  they  parted,  to  meet  no  more  ;  but 
to  perish  within  a  few  days  of  one  another,  the  queen  and  the 
commoner,  on  the  same  scaffold. 

The  hopes  of  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  rest  solely  with  the 
emigrants  :  she  believed  that  the  excess  of  the  anarchy  she 
foresaw  would  lead  to  the  re-establishment  of  order.  It  was 
so ;  but  not  until  she,  and  all  those  she  loved,  had  fallen 
victims  to  the  popular  anger  so  imprudently  encouraged.  In 
the  month  of  November  of  the  year  1791,  the  year  of  the 
flight  to  Varennes,  La  Fayette  and  Pethion  contended  for  the 
mayorship  of  Paris.     The  former  was  a  constitutionalist,  the 


GENEROUS  CONDUCT  OF  MADAME  DU  BARRY  101 

latter  a  republican.  Marie  Antoinette  disliked  La  Fayette, 
as  being  one  of  the  first  men  who  had  humbled  monarchy. 
She  accordingly  opposed  his  election,  and  spent  large  sums  to 
secure  that  of  his  rival.  It  was  perhaps  to  her  efforts  that 
Pethion  owed  his  return. 

This  conduct  was  extremely  imprudent ;  for  since  the  ac- 
ceptation of  the  constitution  by  the  king,  the  difficulties  of 
his  position  had  materially  increased.  Friends  and  enemies 
seemed  leagued  alike  against  the  peace  of  the  sovereigns. 
Friends  complained  that  their  advice  had  not  been  followed ; 
court  ladies  threw  up  their  places  in  the  royal  household  with 
disgust,  because  privileges  were  abolished  by  the  new  constitu- 
tion, and  duchesses  were  deprived  of  their  traditionary  stool 
or  tabouret.  Marie  Antoinette  was  hurt  with  this  conduct, 
and  contrasted  it  probably  with  the  behaviour  of  Madame  du 
Barry.  From  the  commencement  of  the  revolution  the  ex- 
mistress  of  Louis  XV.  distinguished  herself  by  her  zeal  in 
favour  of  the  queen  ;  at  whose  court  she  knew,  however,  that 
she  could  never  hope  to  appear.  At  one  period,  hearing  that 
the  queen  was  in  want  of  money,  she  offered  her  the  costly 
and  magnificent  diamonds  she  had  received  from  the  late 
king.  The  queen  thanked  her  and  declined.  After  the  events 
of  the  6th  of  October,  Madame  du  Barry,  at  the  risk  of  her  life, 
received  the  wounded  gardes  du  corps  who  had  defended  the 
apartment  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  attended  them  with  the 
utmost  devotedness.  More  affected  by  this  trait  than  if  she 
had  received  a  personal  favour  from  her  former  antagonist, 
Marie  Antoinette  commissioned  one  of  her  friends  to  go  and 
thank  Madame  du  Barry  in  her  name. 

Fortunately  for  the  honour  of  the  French  female  noblesse, 
Madame  du  Barry  was  not  the  only  titled  lady  who  braved 
real  peril  in  the  cause  of  royalty.  The  beautiful  Princess  of 
Lamballe  no  sooner  learned  that  the  queen  was  surrounded 
with  danger,  than,  leaving  her  safe  asylum  in  England,  she 
returned  to  France,  and  claimed  her  post  of  superintendent  of 
the  queen's  household.  Not  long  before  the  10th  of  August, 
she  observed  to   one  of  her  friends  :    "  As  the  peril  grows 


102  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

greater,  so  do  I  feel  more  strength.  I  am  ready  to  die  :  I 
fear  nothing. "  Other  women  emulated  her  devotedness  :  but 
those  were  solitary  instances  ;  and  the  intrigues  of  the  narrow- 
minded  coteries  who  still  gathered  around  Marie  Antoinette, 
might  well,  when  joined  to  the  cabals  of  her  enemies,  justify 
the  passionate  exclamation  she  addressed  to  her  brother  :  "  Is 
it  fated  then,  that  I,  with  the  blood  I  am  come  of,  with  the 
sentiments  I  have,  must  live  and  die  among  such  beings  V 

With  the  Legislative  Assembly,  which  succeeded  to  the 
Constituent,  arose  a  new  and  powerful  party,  destined  to 
hasten  the  course  of  the  revolution,  and  to  perish  amongst 
its  earliest  victims.  This  party  (that  of  the  Girondists) 
yielded  to  the  influence  of  several  remarkable  women.  Whilst 
its  leading  members  still  affected  constitutional  principles,  they 
submitted  to  the  power  of  Madame  de  Stael  and  Madame  de 
Condorcet.  These  two  ladies  succeeded  in  procuring  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  Count  of  ISTarbonne  as  War  Minister.  He 
was  a  young,  handsome,  and  brilliant  nobleman,  and  a  pas- 
sionate attachment  was  said  to  be  at  the  root  of  the  interest 
testified  for  him  by  the  daughter  of  Necker  and  the  wife  of 
Condorcet.  But  gradually,  and  as  their  policy  assumed  a 
more  republican  shape,  the  Girondists  fell  off  from  Madame 
de  Stael,  who  still  remained  faithful  to  her  father's  doctrine 
of  constitutional  monarchy.  A  Madame  d'Udon,  now  well 
nidi  forgotten,  and  a  clever  actress,  named  Mademoiselle 
Caudeille,  attracted  them  for  a  time  ;  their  power  was  quickly 
effaced  by  that  of  Madame  Roland,  a  woman  whose  name  is 
imperishably  connected  with  the  history  of  the  Girondist 
party.  It  was  this  woman  whom  General  Dumouriez  endea- 
voured to  fascinate,  when  he  succeeded  Narbonne,  in  March 
1792.  He  saw  her  power  over  her  friends,  and  wished  to 
rule  them  through  her.  But  if  Madame  Roland  was  graceful 
and  lovely  as  a  Frenchwoman  of  the  eighteenth  century,  she 
was  also  as  austere  as  a  Roman  matron.  Dumouriez,  unprin- 
cipled and  accustomed  to  the  intrigues  of  the  old  regime, 
smiled  at  the  earnestness  of  her  republican  enthusiasm  :  leav- 
ing her  to  her  bright  visions  of  the  future,  he  secretly  resolved 


CHIVALROUS  CONDUCT  OF  DUMOUKIEZ.  103 

to  turn  his  attention  to  the  more  practicable  object  of  saving 
monarchy  and  the  queenly  Marie  Antoinette.  Could  he  do 
this,  he  knew  his  fortune  would  be  secure  for  ever ;  and, 
though  ambitious,  the  daring  and  brilliant  Dumouriez  was 
also  capable  of  devoted  and  chivalrous  feelings  :  the  task  of 
delivering  from  the  toils  of  her  enemies  a  proud  and  oppressed 
queen  was  as  soothing  to  his  vanity  as  the  long  vista  of  hon- 
ours its  accomplishment  would  open  to  his  soaring  spirit. 

His  first  care  on  his  appointment  was,  therefore,  to  seek  an 
interview  with  Marie  Antoinette.     He  found  her  alone,  pacing 
her  apartment  agitatedly.     Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  she 
looked  irritated.     She  was  probably  so  at  the  appointment  of 
Dumouriez,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being   a   vehement 
Jacobin.     "  Sir,"  said  she,  walking  up  towards  him,  "  you  are 
now  all  powerful ;  but  popularity  is  brief.     I  will  deal  frankly 
with  you.     Neither  the  king  nor  myself  submit  willingly  to 
the  constitutional  innovations  which  have  been  forced  upon 
us.     Choose  now  the  part  you  wish  to  take."     To  this  strange 
and  imprudent  speech,  Dumouriez  replied  by  pointing  out  the 
necessity  of  appearing  to  adopt  the  extreme  principles  it  was 
so  desirable  to  control  :  such,  he  hinted,  had  already  been  his 
policy.     But  Marie  Antoinette  either  disliked  this  course  or 
mistrusted  the  general,  and  she  received  his  advances  coldly. 
Not  discouraged  by  this  repulse,  Dumouriez,  whose  interest 
in  the  fate  of  the  courageous  queen  was  increased  by  her 
daring  and  imprudent  temper,  continued  to  urge  the  point  ; 
and,  falling  at  her  feet,  passionately  exclaimed,  as  he  pressed 
her  hand    to  his   lips, — "  0  madam,   allow   yourself    to    be 
saved !,!      Marie  Antoinette,  thinking  he  acted  a  part,  remained 
inflexible.     She  certainly  erred  in   not  giving  the   plans  of 
Dumouriez  a  fair  trial.     Of  all  the  members  of  the  Girondist 
ministry,  he  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  aim  at  a  republic  : 
only  one  really  devoted  to  the  king. 
The  unhappy  monarch  daily  found,  in  his  advisers,  enemies 
idy  to  watch  and  expose  his  errors.     He  unfortunately  gave 
them  a  pretence  for  opposition,  by  refusing  to  sanction  the 
<1  taree  a  pinst  the  nonjuring  priests.      The  ministers  remon- 


104  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

strated ;  lie  dismissed  them,  but  could  not  find  men  fit  to 
succeed  them  :  the  sense  of  his  helpless  and  desperate  position 
then  struck  him  so  forcibly  that  for  ten  days  he  scarcely 
uttered  a  word.  The  queen,  filled  with  grief  at  his  deplorable 
state,  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  conjured  him,  in  her  name 
and  that  of  her  children,  to  arouse  himself.  "  If  perish  we 
must,"  she  energetically  exclaimed,  "  let  us  perish  with  hon- 
our, striving  for  our  cause  ;  and  let  us  not  remain  to  be  stifled 
in  the  walls  of  our  palace." 

The  organised  insurrection  of  the  20th  of  June  1792,  which 
followed  the  dismissal  of  the  Girondist  ministry,  seemed  des- 
tined to  humble  and  degrade  royalty  before  it  should  be 
crushed  for  ever.  An  infuriated  populace  broke  into  the 
palace,  insulted  the  royal  family,  and  committed  every  vio- 
lence short  of  assassination.  Louis  XVI.  rose  into  sublimity 
through  mere  passive  courage  ;  Marie  Antoinette  was  heroic 
and  dignified ;  Madame  Elizabeth  devoted.  On  the  first 
sounds  of  the  tumult,  the  young  princess  broke  from  the 
grasp  of  her  women  and  rushed  to  the  "  ceuil  de  boeuf,"  where 
she  found  the  king  surrounded  by  an  angry  crowd.  She 
made  her  way  towards  him,  and  clasped  him  passionately  in 
her  arms.  "  The  queen  !  it  is  the  queen  !"  exclaimed  a  hun- 
dred voices  at  once,  and  at  that  hated  name  arms  rose  and 
glittered  threateningly  towards  her.  She  waited  her  expected 
fate  in  calm  and  silent  resignation  ;  the  hurried  explanations 
of  a  few  officers  of  the  palace  alone  saved  her  from  instant 
death.  "  Ah  !  why,"  she  mournfully  exclaimed,  "  did  you 
undeceive  them  ?  Perhaps,  by  dying  for  the  queen,  I  might 
have  saved  her." 

Bitterly  conscious  that  her  presence  could  only  add  to  the 
peril  of  her  husband,  Marie  Antoinette  was  compelled  to  re- 
main with  her  children  in  her  own  apartment.  Her  only 
defenders  were  a  few  devoted  nobles,  timid  attendants,  and 
the  Princess  of  Lamballe  ;  who,  in  spite  of  the  queen's  en- 
treaties, had  hastened  to  her  post  on  the  first  rumour  of 
danger.  For  two  hours  the  populace  vociferated  at  the  door 
for  admittance.     It  was  at  length  thought  prudent  to  comply. 


APPREHENSIONS  OF  THE  KING  AND  QCTEEN.         105 

The  doors  were  thrown  open  ;  the  queen,  her  children,  and 
the  women  having  previously  been  entrenched  in  the  recess 
of  a  window,  behind  a  wide  table.  Here,  for  three  hours? 
Marie  Antoinette,  with  unsubdued  courage  and  incomparable 
dignity,  stood  listening  to  the  insults  of  her  enemies  as  they 
passed  before  her.  The  women  especially  addressed  her  in 
the  fiercest  and  most  disgusting  language.  "Did  I  ever  in- 
jure you  1"  at  length  asked  the  queen,  of  one  of  these  furies. 
"  No,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  you  are  the  foe  of  the  people." 
"You  have  been  deceived,"  mournfully  said  the  queen. 
"  Alas  !  I  was  happy  when  you  all  loved  me."  "  Forgive 
me,"  said  the  woman,  bursting  into  tears  ;  "  I  see  that  you  are 
good."  Even  Santerre,  the  fierce  hero  of  the  faubourgs,  was 
touched  at  the  sight  of  undeserved  ignominy  so  royally  en- 
dured. By  looks  and  broken  words  he  intimated  his  sym- 
pathy to  the  queen ;  and  from  that  time  held  secret  intelli- 
gence with  her.  After  being  indulged  in  their  tyranny  for  five 
hours,  the  crowd  were  at  length  dispersed.  The  emotion  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  on  beholding  her  husband,  betrayed  itself 
by  hysterical  shrieks.  For  some  time  the  king  vainly  endea- 
voured to  calm  her ;  when  he  had  at  length  succeeded,  he 
perceived  that  he  still  wore  the  coarse  red  cap  he  had  been 
compelled  to  assume  in  order  to  save  his  life.  He  cast  it 
away  indignantly,  bitterly  exclaiming,  "  Ah  !  madam,  did  you 
come  from  Vienna  to  behold  me  thus  degraded  1 " 

From  that  day  to  the  10th  of  August,  the  sovereigns  lived 
in  the  full  consciousness  of  their  approaching  fate.  They  were 
persuaded  not  to  touch  the  meals  prepared  for  them,  and  to 
partake  in  secret  of  the  food  provided  by  a  few  faithful  ser- 
vants. Their  own  apprehensions  were  of  a  more  serious 
nature.  "  They  will  not  assassinate  me,"  often  observed  the 
king  ;  "  they  will  judge  me  openly."  The  queen  entertained 
the  same  foreboding.  "I  fear  that  they  will  try  the  king," 
she  said  to  Madame  Campan  :  "  as  for  me,  I  am  a  foreigner  ; 
they  will  murder  me.  .  .  .  What  will  become  of  our  poor 
children  !"  She  wept  bitterly.  The  femme  dc  chambre,  re- 
mi  mbi  ring  how  subject  she  had  formerly  been  to  spasms  and 


106  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

hysterics,  offered  her  a  composing  draught.  "  Nay,"  said  the 
queen,  with  deep  sadness,  "  it  is  only  happy  women  that  can 
feel  nervous.  I  need  no  such  remedies  now.''  And  Madame 
Campan  bears  witness  that  the  health  of  her  royal  mistress 
was  never  so  uniformly  excellent  as  when  her  whole  energies 
were  called  forth  by  grief. 

Marie  Antoinette  accustomed  herself  to  the  thought  of 
death,  but  not  to  the  calumnies  of  her  foes.  She  one  day  sur- 
prised an  attendant  in  the  act  of  superintending  her  food,  lest 
poison  should  be  introduced  into  it.  "  Remember,"  said  the 
queen,  "  it  is  not  by  poison,  but  by  calumny,  that  I  shall  die.' 
Of  all  the  accusations  against  her,  none  wounded  her  so 
deeply  as  that  of  not  loving  France,  and  being  still  an  Aus- 
trian at  heart.  Several  times  she  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
her  apartment,  in  order  to  address  the  crowd  assembled  under 
her  window  to  insult  her.  "  Yes,"  she  passionately  exclaimed, 
pacing  her  room  with  hurried  steps,  her  cheeks  growing 
flushed,  and  her  heart  swelling  as  she  spoke — "  yes,  I  will  go 
and  say  to  them,  Frenchmen,  they  have  persuaded  you  that  I 
do  not  love  France  !  That  I,  the  wife  of  your  king,  the 
mother  of  your  dauphin — I,  seated  on  the  greatest  throne  of 
Europe,  and  blest  amongst  the  daughters  of  Maria  Theresa ; 
that  I  do  not  love  France  !  Ah  !  what  have  I  to  find  in 
Vienna  now  1  Nothing,  save  tombs  !  What  have  I  to  lose 
in  France  ?  Everything  that  can  render  life  honourable  and 
dear  ! "  So  spoke  and  felt  the  unhappy  queen  ;  but  sad  and 
calm  reflection  soon  shewed  her  that  the  appeal  she  meditated 
would  be  made  in  vain.  The  evil  passions  which  hatred  had  so 
long  roused  against  her,  were  not  to  be  thus  silenced  by  a  few 
heroic  words.  Not  until  many  years  had  passed  over  her  un- 
honoured  grave  could  even  her  memory  obtain  justice,  pur- 
sued as  it  was  still  by  those  foul  calumnies  which  had  hastened 
her  destruction. 

The  events  of  the  20th  of  June  filled  the  noble  soul  of  La 
Fayette  with  indignation.  He  protested  against  the  daily-in- 
creasing anarchy,  and  offered  his  support  to  the  king.  But 
Marie  Antoinette  preferred  to  his  assistance  the  purchased  and 


UNION  OF  JACOBINS  AND  GIRONDISTS.  107 

doubtful  influence  of  Danton.  "  Never,"  she  energetically  ex- 
claimed, "  will  we  accept  the  aid  of  those  who  first  seized  on 
our  power.  If  we  perish,  we  shall  perish  with  dignity  :  his- 
tory awaits  us."  The  queen  then  entertained  strong  hopes, 
founded  on  the  approach  of  the  foreign  troops.  One  night  in 
July,  while  she  was  looking  at  the  moon,  she  observed  to  a 
friend  near  her,  "  When  in  a  month  this  moon  will  appear 
again  as  we  see  it  now,  I  shall  be  free  and  happy."  The  re- 
luctance which  the  sovereigns  had  long  felt  to  foreign  interven- 
tion was  now  over.  The  grossest  insults  awaited  them  in  that 
palace  where  their  predecessors  had  reigned  as  kings,  and 
where  they  were  held  as  the  hostages  of  the  people.  In  the 
royal  chapel,  where  they  came  to  pray,  the  singers  greeted 
them  with  the  Marseillaise  or  the  "Ca  Ira."  On  one  of  the 
last  Sundays  of  July  they  repeated  three  times,  with  much 
exultation,  these  words  from  the  Magnificat :  "  He  hath  put 
down  the  mighty  from  their  seats,  and  exalted  them  of  low 
dc"Tee."  *  Every  day  the  sovereigns  were  confirmed  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  attack  the  faubourgs  intended  to  make  on 
the  palace.  One  night,  when  they  expected  it  to  take  place, 
the  king  and  Madame  Elizabeth  agreed  not  to  waken  Marie 
Antoinette,  who  happened  to  be  asleep.  She  complained 
bitterly,  on  the  following  day,  that  whilst  his  sister  was  with 
her  husband,  she  had  been  allowed  to  slumber  on.  "  I  am 
his  wife,"  she  added,  "  and  I  will  share  every  one  of  his 
dangers." 

The  day  came  at  length.  The  insurrection  of  the  10th  of 
August  was  organised  by  the  Jacobins  and  a  portion  of  the 
Girondist  party.  They  united  for  a  moment  to  overthrow 
royalty  and  found  the  republic,  and  to  resume  on  the  very 
next  day  their  bitter  and  fatal  dissensions.  The  night  from 
the  9th  to  the  10th  was  spent  in  watchful  anxiety  by  the  royal 
family.  The  king  confessed  himself,  and  calmly  prepared  for 
death.  More  heroic,  and  less  resigned,  the  queen  vainly 
sought  to  communicate  to  him  her  own  spirit  of  resistance. 
The  pious  and  gentle  Madame  Elizabeth  needed  no  prepara- 

*  Luke  i.  62. 


108  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

tion  :  the  sacrifice  of  her  life  had  internally  been  made  ever 
since  her  devotedness  to  her  brother  prevented  her  from  leav- 
ing the  kingdom  with  her  other  relatives. 

From  the  dawn  till  the  close  of  that  eventful  day,  the 
behaviour  of  Marie  Antoinette  was  admirable.  She  was  true 
to  every  feeling  of  her  nature  ;  true  to  the  impulses  of  the 
woman,  the  mother,  and  the  queen  :  whilst  the  king  submitted 
with  pious  but  ill-timed  resignation  to  his  destiny,  her  courage 
rose  with  every  new  danger.  Could  she  have  imparted  this 
heroism  to  her  husband,  a  desperate,  and  perhaps  successful, 
resistance  would  have  taken  place.  His  timid,  embarrassed, 
and  awkward  manner  chilled  the  ardour  of  his  defenders.  The 
queenly  bearing  of  Marie  Antoinette,  her  hurried  but  still  dig- 
nified step,  the  kindling  and  penetrating  glance  of  her  blue 
eyes,  the  inexpressible  majesty  of  her  pale  countenance, — 
everything  in  her  person, — roused  the  admiration  and  enthusi- 
asm of  the  volunteers  before  whose  ranks  she  passed.  But  the 
emotion  was  transitory ;  she  could  not  act,  she  could  not  even 
speak.  The  king  uttered  a  few  hesitating  words  ;  heroic  and 
spirit-stirring  expressions  rose  to  the  lips  of  his  wife,  but  they 
died  unspoken  :  she  would  not  provoke  a  contrast  that  might 
wound  his  dignity ;  now  more  than  ever  she  felt  that  her  part 
was  "  to  submit  silently,  and  prepare  to  die."  Carried  away, 
however,  by  the  excitement  of  the  hour,  she  once  seized  on  a 
pair  of  pistols,  and  presented  them  to  her  husband,  exclaiming, 
as  she  did  so,  "  Now  is  the  time  to  shew  yourself  a  king ; " 
but  she  found  no  response  in  the  peaceable  soul  of  Louis 
XVI. :  though  he  could  die  with  calm  dignity  on  a  scaffold, 
the  battle  strife  was  not  fit  for  him.  He  made  no  reply,  and 
gently  put  the  pistols  away. 

The  great  difficulty  of  defending  the  palace  was,  that 
amongst  the  National  Guards,  who  had  been  summoned  to 
protect  it,  there  were  numerous  allies  of  the  insurgents.  This 
became  apparent  when  the  king  entered  the  gardens  in  order 
to  review  the  troops  in  it :  he  was  hooted,  insulted,  and  very 
nearly  assassinated.  The  sound  of  the  execrations  directed 
against  him  reached  the  apartment  of  Marie  Antoinette  :  she 


THE  KOYAL  FAMILY  IN  THE  NATIONAL  ASSEMBLY.     109 

rushed  to  a  window ;  oue  of  the  ministers  gently  drew  her 
back  :  "  Good  God  ! "  she  exclaimed,  bursting  into  tears,  "  it 
is  the  king  they  are  hooting."  But  such  was  her  self-command 
that  in  a  few  seconds  her  eyes  were  dry,  and  her  look  had 
resumed  its  courageous  serenity.  According  to  the  words  of 
one  who  saw  her  then,  "  The  Austrian  Lip  and  the  aquiline 
nose  fuller  than  usual,  gave  to  her  countenance  something  of 
majesty,  which  they  that  did  not  see  her  in  those  moments 
cannot  well  conceive."  But  the  manner  in  which  the  king 
had  been  received  by  the  troops  charged  to  defend  him,  dis- 
heartened even  the  heroic  Marie  Antoinette.  She  still  pro- 
tested, however,  against  the  course  recommended  by  their 
advisers — that  the  king  and  his  family,  giving  up  a  useless 
resistance,  should  retire  before  the  people  had  invaded  their 
palace,  and  take  refuge  in  the  National  Assembly.  To  yield 
without  a  struggle,  to  seek  the  protection  of  those  who  had 
brought  down  the  royal  power  so  low,  and  to  forsake  the 
devoted  friends  who  were  now  ready  to  shed  their  blood  for 
their  sovereign,  seemed  to  Marie  Antoinette  the  height  of 
degradation  and  shame.  In  this  her  heroic  heart  inspired 
her  well.  What  did  this  concession  avail  Louis  XVI.  1  He 
forfeited  his  crown,  his  kingly  dignity,  his  life,  the  Lives  of  his 
family,  of  the  faithful  Swiss,  of  his  noble  adherents — for  a 
chance  of  safety.  To  risk  all,  in  desperate  cases,  is  often  the 
truest,  the  highest  wisdom. 

The  cheeks  of  Marie  Antoinette  burned  with  shame  as  the 
kins  at  length  took  this  resolve.  She  followed  him  in  silence? 
with  Madame  Elizabeth  and  her  children,  to  the  asylum  he 
had  been  persuaded  to  choose.  On  reaching  the  Assembly,  the 
royal  family  were  placed  in  the  narrow  box  occupied  by  the 
newspaper  reporters.  For  fourteen  hours  they  remained  there, 
in  a  stifling  atmosphere,  listening  to  the  deliberations  of  the 
Assembly,  and  to  the  sounds  of  the  combat  carried  on  in  the 
palace  they  had  abandoned.  The  victory  of  the  people,  the 
massacre  of  the  Swiss,  and  the  suspension  of  royal  power, 
were  announced  in  their  presence.  The  king  preserved  his 
mournful  calmness;  the  queen  her  indignant  and  unsubdued 


110  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

bearing.  The  thought  of  the  friends  they  had  left  behind 
them  to  perish ;  of  the  children  who  slept  unconscious  on  her 
knee,  and  who  had  lost,  in  one  night,  the  fairest  realm  of 
Europe  ;  of  her  husband's  future  fate  ;  of  her  own  ;  of  power 
and  glory  gone  for  ever,  might  tear  her  heart  with  inward 
agony,  but  could  not  cause  one  sign  of  weakness  to  appear  on 
her  imperial  brow. 

For  two  days  this  torture  was  renewed,  and  the  royal 
family  heard,  from  the.  same  place,  the  deliberations  of  the 
Assembly ;  every  one  of  which  was  to  them  as  the  knell  of 
their  fallen  fortunes.  Deprived  of  the  commonest  necessaries, 
Marie  Antoinette  was  compelled  to  borrow  twenty-five  louis  of 
one  of  her  attendants,  and  to  accept  the  change  of  linen  for 
herself  and  her  children  sent  by  the  English  ambassadress. 

On  the  third  day  the  captives,  for  such  they  were  now, 
were  conveyed  to  the  Temple  :  a  gloomy,  monastic  residence, 
fit  prison  for  a  fallen  king.  Of  the  five  persons  who  entered 
this  dark  dwelling,  three  left  it  for  the  scaffold ;  one  for  a 
foreign  land,  where  she  still  dwells,  a  sorrowful  exile ;  the 
fifth,  that  pure  and  lovely  child  who  slept  on  the  bosom  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  died  within  the  walls  of  his  prison,  after  a 
few  years  of  bodily  torture  and  mental  degradation,  the  inno- 
cent victim  of  the  crimes  and  errors  of  his  race,  and  of  the 
pitiless  vengeance  of  a  nation. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

THE  ENGRAVER'S  DAUGHTER,  MADAME  ROLAND. 

Two  women  may  be  said  to  have  acted  a  part  of  more  than 
common  importance  in  the  fall  of  monarchy.  The  one,  as 
queen  of  France,  by  her  ill-timed  resistance  to  the  revolution  ; 
the  other  by  her  imprudent  enthusiasm  as  the  secret  inspirer 
of  the  republican  party. 

Though  thus  tending,  by  different  means,  and  with  far 
different  objects,  to  the  same  end — an  end  which  proved  ruin 
for  both,  and  for  the  principles  they  professed — these  two 
women,  divided  by  the  vast  difference  of  their  social  positions, 
never  met.  Their  struggle  was  carried  on  through  the  men 
they  influenced.  This  is  no  vague  assertion  :  the  struggle 
existed ;  it  was  a  long  and  severe  one — the  struggle  of  ener- 
getic reaction  represented  by  Marie  Antoinette,  and  of  repub- 
lican ardour  embodied  by  Madame  Roland.  The  queen  was 
certainly  no  more  the  whole  reaction  than  the  engraver's 
daughter  was  the  whole  republican  party ;  but  it  is  a  signifi- 
cant and  important  fact,  to  find  in  two  women  the  fittest 
representatives  of  the  great  principles  which  divided  France 
at  that  momentous  period  of  her  history. 

We  have  already  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  conduct  of 
Marie  Antoinette  ;  on  the  imprudence  which  hastened  the 
fall  of  Louis  XVI.  ;  on  the  heroism  which  gave  to  that  fall 
some  of  her  own  native  dignity.  Whilst  the  queen  thus  pur- 
sued her  ill-advised  course,  Madame  Roland — as  lovely,  high- 
spirited,  and  inflexible  as  the  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa,  but 
with  less  of  her  frivolous  grace,  and  with  an  intellect  of  more 
commanding  grasp  and  energy — gathered  around  her,  by  tho 
power  of  her  beauty  and  eloquence,  a  party  of  talented  and 


112  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

ardent  men,  who,  yielding  to  her  inspirations,  hurried  France 
towards  a  brief  and  premature  republic. 

Beautiful — but  of  that  chaste  and  almost  spiritual  beauty 
which  is  felt  and  not  portrayed — tall  and  graceful  in  person, 
with  a  broad,  clear  brow,  blue  eyes,  deep  and  thoughtful, 
dark  curling  locks  that  clustered  around  her  neck,  and  features 
which,  if  not  strictly  regular,  were  full  of  fire  and  expression, 
Madame  Roland  exercised  an  irresistible  fascination  on  all 
those  who  approached  her.  Great  as  was  the  power  of  her 
personal  charms,  it  yielded  to  that  of  her  voice.  Those  who 
had  heard  it  once  could  never  forget  it  again.  The  low,  clear 
tones — so  mellow  and  so  deep — haunted  them  like  a  strain  of 
exquisite  melody  through  years,  long  after  she  who  gave  them 
utterance  had  perished  on  a  scaffold. 

But  the  real  source  of  Madame  Roland's  influence  must  be 
sought  in  her  dauntless  and  noble  character.  To  the  austere 
heroism  of  a  Roman  matron,  she  united  that  sensitive  and 
passionate  enthusiasm  unknown  to  the  ancients ;  and  which 
has  sprung  from  Christianity,  with  its  fount  of  boundless 
love,  and  its  yearning  thirst  of  self-sacrifice.  Great,  indeed, 
as  her  talents  were,  they  were  far  surpassed  by  a  spirit  as 
heroic,  and  yet  as  womanly,  as  ever  tenanted  female  form. 
Earnest  and  deeply  convinced  herself,  she  could  convince 
others  :  her  eloquence  was  not  merely  the  eloquence  of  genius ; 
it  sprang  from  the  heart,  and  had  that  power  which  the  heart 
alone  can  give. 

There  is  nothing,  perhaps,  more  remarkable  in  the  history 
of  this  eminent  woman  than  the  simple  dignity  of  her  earlier 
years.  "We  may  take  her  from  her  obscure  youth,  and  follow 
her  to  the  scaffold ;  we  still  find  her  the  same  pure,  resolute, 
and  independent  being,  bearing  her  unmerited  isolation  and 
poverty  with  the  same  fortitude  which  she  afterwards  dis- 
played in  a  prison,  with  the  prospect  of  a  certain  death  before 
her.  It  is  in  this  completeness  of  her  character  that  lies  its 
true,  its  perfect  greatness.  Manon  Phlipon  was  born  at  Paris, 
in  the  year  1756,  of  obscure  but  respectable  parents  :  her 
father  was  an  engraver  of  some  talent,  and  in  easy  circum- 


YOUTH  OF  MADAME  ROLAND.  113 

stances.  She  was  surrounded  from  her  youth  by  those  pure 
and  religious  influences  which,  notwithstanding  the  scepticism 
of  the  age,  stil]  lingered  in  the  humble  homes  of  the  bourgeois. 
Even  as  a  child  Manon  was  grave  and  thoughtful,  and  dis- 
played an  inflexible  temper,  strange  in  one  so  young.  She 
yielded  to  persuasion,  but  resisted  force  or  arbitrary  will  with 
unflinching  obstinacy.  When  she  was  about  six  years  old, 
she  was  ordered,  during  one  of  her  childish  illnesses,  to  take 
a  nauseous  draught :  the  disgust  natural  to  her  age  made 
her  refuse.  Her  father  immediately  administered  to  her  a 
personal  chastisement,  and  imperatively  bade  her  obey ;  she 
refused  again,  and  the  correction  was  repeated ;  a  third  in- 
junction to  drink  the  medicine  was  then  delivered  to  her; 
this  time  the  child  said  nothing  :  without  even  deigning  to 
utter  a  refusal,  she  offered  herself  silently  to  the  expected 
blow.  A  gentle  prayer  and  remonstrance  from  her  mother, 
who  then  interfered,  sufficed  to  make  her  comply  :  overpower- 
ing her  strong  reluctance,  she  drank  off  the  medicine  without 
hesitation.  Struck  with  the  indomitable  resolution  of  his 
daughters  temper,  M.  Phlipon  yielded  her  entirely  to  the 
management  of  his  wife,  and  forbore  exercising  over  Manon 
an  injudicious  tyranny,  which  might  pervert,  but  could  not 
subdue,  the  native  energy  of  her  character. 

Notwithstanding  the  inflexibility  she  displayed  whenever 
she  thought  herself  the  victim  of  injustice  or  caprice,  Manon 
was  habitually  of  a  gentle  and  serene  disposition.  Her  earliest 
inclination  was  a  passionate  fondness  for  books  and  flowers; 
with  both  of  which  she  afterwards  cheered  her  prison  solitude. 
A  child  in  years,  a  woman  in  the  depth  and  earnestness  of 
her  feelings,  she  might  often  be  seen  seated  in  a  recess  of  her 
father's  workshop,  poring  for  hours  over  an  old  volume  of 
Plutarch's  Lives ;  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  eyes  swim- 
ming with  tears,  as  she  dwelt  on  the  immortal  pages  which 
have  roused  and  inspired  so  many  heroic  spirits.  Often  then 
the  loved  book  fell  from  her  grasp,  whilst,  with  brow  bent 
down  and  clasped  hands,  she  silently  wept,  to  think  that  she 
was  not  born  in  ancient  Sparta  or  glorious  Home.  When  her 
VOL.  II.  11 


114  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

mother,  a  woman  of  remarkable  beauty  and  gentleness,  wished 
to  draw  away  Manon  from  her  books,  for  which  the  child,  as 
has  already  been  observed,  always  felt  a  strange  yearning,  she 
offered  her  flowers.  The  volume  of  Plutarch,  however,  left 
her  but  seldom  :  she  secretly  carried  it  with  her,  instead  of 
her  prayer-book,  whenever  Madame  Phlipon,  who  was  ex- 
tremely devout,  took  her  to  the  parish  church  during  Lent. 
The  deeds  of  the  heroic  men  of  old  were  the  "  Acts  of  the 
Apostles"  which  steeled  the  soul  of  the  martyr  of  liberty. 
Unconscious  of  the  stern  future  destined  to  her,  she  already 
envied,  perchance,  in  the  dreams  of  her  childhood,  that  gloomy 
and  yet  glorious  fate  which  has  revealed  her  to  posterity. 
And  is  not  character,  indeed,  that  secret  power  of  fashioning 
lif e  and  events  which  was  so  long  called  destiny  1 

The  parents  of  the  young  Manon,  proud  of  her  dawning 
beauty  and  singular  talents,  strained  their  means  to  give  her 
an  education  worthy  of  her,  though  far  above  her  position  in 
life.  History,  geography,  astronomy,  chemistry,  geometry, 
Latin,  English,  Italian,  music,  dancing,  and  drawing,  were 
taught  her  by  various  masters;  who  all  admired  her  rapid 
progress.  Her  eagerness  to  learn  was  such  that  she  often 
rose,  unbidden,  at  five  in  the  morning,  in  order  to  have  more 
time  for  her  studies.  But  knowledge  could  not  absorb 
entirely  a  soul  naturally  so  ardent  and  enthusiastic.  That 
longing  for  ideal  excellence,  which  she  afterwards  placed  in 
stoic  endurance  and  republican  freedom,  already  haunted  the 
mind  of  the  thoughtful  child.  She  wished  to  understand  her 
own  nature,  to  know  the  real  destination  of  man,  and  to  pre- 
pare herself  for  it,  whatever  it  might  be.  This  earnestness 
of  purpose  is  one  of  the  noblest  characteristics  of  her  brief 
existence.  In  youth,  her  aspirations  took  the  form  of  reli- 
gious mysticism  :  she  gave  herself  up  to  prayer  and  contem- 
plation. Like  the  beautiful  and  impassioned  Saint  Theresa, 
of  Avilar,  she  early  sighed  for  martyrdom,  and  dwelt  with 
silent  rapture  on  the  unfathomed  mysteries  of  divine  love. 
She  entertained  for  a  while  the  project  of  embracing  a  reli- 
gious life  :  the  sublime  devotedness  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity 


MANON  PHLIPON  ENTERS  A  CONVENT.  H5 

deeply  touched  her  heart,  already  thirsting  for  self-sacrifice. 
Yielding  to  her  earnest  prayers,  her  parents  allowed  her  to 
spend  a  year  in  a  convent.  In  this  calm  retreat  her  mind 
acquired  the  deep  and  subdued  tone  of  feeling  characteristic 
of  those  persons  who  have  lived  in  loneliness  and  self-com- 
munion. She  loved  to  sit  apart  from  her  companions,  read- 
ing and  meditating  in  the  solitary  avenues  of  the  grounds  by 
which  the  convent  was  surrounded,  or  to  muse  in  the  lonely 
cloisters,  over  the  grave  of  some  departed  nun,  familiarising 
her  soul  with  the  solemn  thoughts  of  death  and  eternity. 
Though  the  religious  sentiments  of  Manon  Phlipon  yielded, 
at  a  later  period,  to  the  scepticism  of  the  age,  their  purifying 
influence  is  to  be  traced  through  every  stage  of  her  existence. 
They  imparted  to  her  character  that  tenderness  and  calm 
fortitude  which  marked  her  domestic  and  public  life,  and 
chastened  down  the  almost  pagan  heroism  of  her  last  hours. 

When  the  young  girl — for  she  was  now  no  longer  a  child — 
left  the  convent,  and  returned  to  her  father's  house,  it  was  to 
lead  a  life  of  severe  retirement.  For  several  years  she  remained 
wholly  secluded  within  the  pure  atmosphere  of  domestic  life. 
Religion,  study,  and  humble  household  cares  filled  her  quiet 
existence,  and  fortified  her  soul  for  future  struggles.  An 
active  correspondence  which  she  then  carried  on  with  two  of 
her  convent  friends,  Henriette  and  Sophie  Cannet,  shews  how 
calm  and  obscure  was  the  life  she  led.  The  influence  of  early 
home  is  felt  throughout  every  woman's  life ;  her  world  is 
essentially  inward  :  it  is  in  the  practice  of  homely  duties,  in 
.slight  but  repeated  trials  and  sufferings,  that  she  acquires  the 
subdued  gentleness,  the  habit  of  calm  endurance,  which,  in 
more  impatient  man,  are  the  result  of  judgment  or  iron  will. 
Manon  accustomed  herself  to  a  severe  self -discipline.  She 
was  early  convinced  that  it  is  more  easy  to  repress  our  passions 
than  to  satisfy  them  with  due  moderation.  Whenever  her 
active  imagination  seemed  to  her  in  need  of  control,  she  there- 
fore studied  geometry  and  algebra  with  passionate  ardour. 
The  austere  turn  of  her  mind  made  her  dislike  the  licentious 
novels  then  in  fashion  ;  history  even  lost  its  charms  for  her  : 


116  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

she  missed,  in  the  events  and  characters  to  which  it  related, 
the  heroism  and  dignity  she  vainly  longed  to  find,  and  which 
she  sought  for  a  while  in  the  stern  doctrines  of  the  Stoics. 
The  change  which  then  took  place  in  her  religious  opinions 
confirmed,  instead  of  weakening,  this  austerity  of  principle. 
The  philosophical  works  of  the  time  destroyed  her  faith,  for 
she  proceeded  on  the  erroneous  principle  that  she  was  bound 
to  prove  logically  to  herself  every  article  of  her  creed ;  but 
her  soul  was  so  noble  and  so  pure,  that,  whilst  she  gave  up 
her  former  belief  in  immortality,  and  even  for  a  time  her 
faith  in  the  existence  of  a  God,  she  did  not  swerve  from  the 
severe  line  of  duty  she  had  early  resolved  to  adopt.  "  The 
gospel,"  she  writes  to  her  devout  friend,  Sophie  Cannet,  to 
whom  she  candidly  confessed  her  scepticism,  "  is  the  best 
book  I  know.  I  receive  this  admirable  code  of  morals,  and 
am  resolved  to  conform  my  whole  conduct  to  it."  So  anxious 
was  she  not  to  yield  to  the  secret  impulse  of  passion,  in  her 
change  of  belief,  that  she  openly  declared,  "  that  when  we 
doubt,  we  must  live  as  though  we  believed  :"  a  scepticism 
very  foreign  in  practice  to  that  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
whose  philosophers  believed  in  little  or  nothing,  and  acted 
according  to  their  faith. 

The  errors  of  Manon  were  those  of  her  understanding  :  her 
heart  remained  pure.  She  confessed  that  when  she  listened 
to  it,  exclusively  of  reason,  she  believed  :  it  was  then  that  she 
rejected  what  she  called  "  the  melancholy  truths  of  atheism." 
But,  even  when  she  adopted  those  desolating  doctrines  to 
their  widest  extent,  she  conceived  herself  bound  to  adhere  to 
the  self-denying  virtues  of  Christianity,  as  fully  as  if  she  had 
been  convinced  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  the  future 
reward  of  virtue.  "  Sincerity  with  myself,  and  the  accordance 
of  my  conduct  with  the  system  which  I  shall  have  adopted 
(whatsoever  it  may  be)  shall,  at  every  time,  prove  the  great 
object  of  my  care,  and  the  end  of  my  efforts."  A  noble  pro- 
fession of  faith,  to  which  she  ever  remained  true. 

Several  years  were  thus  spent  by  Manon  in  her  father's 
house.     The  greatest  portion  of  her  time  she  gave  to  study; 


CHANGE  IN  MANON'S  KELIGIOXJS  OPINIONS.  117 

she  occasionally  amused  herself  with  literary  composition,  but 
without  the  least  intention  of  devoting  herself  to  authorship. 
<'  I  early  perceived,"  she  observes  in  her  Memoirs,  "  that  a 
female  author  lost  more  than  she  gamed,  since  she  was  dis- 
liked by  the  men,  and  criticised  by  her  own  sex."  This  wise 
indifference  to  mere  reputation  did  not  extend  to  political 
matters.  In  spite  of  the  obscurity  of  her  birth  and  station, 
Manon  could  not  feel  herself  foreign  to  the  welfare  of  her 
country.  She  took  a  deep  interest  in  the  struggles  between 
the  Parliament  and  the  crown.  Even  then  she  was  eminently 
republican  in  her  feelings  and  opinions  :  she  resigned  herself 
to  an  absolute  monarchy,  but  always  regretted  that  she  was 
not  born  under  a  democratic  government. 

The  philosophic  and  popular  spirit  which  had  been  gradu- 
ally descending  through  every  class  of  the  nation,  now  began 
to  pervade  the  bourgeoisie.  Manon  adopted  eagerly  the  doc- 
trines of  equality  and  brotherhood,  which  the  philosophers 
had  borrowed  from  Christianity,  even  whilst  they  denied  its 
Divine  origin.  Like  Milton's  archangel,  "  severe  in  youthful 
beauty,"  she  gazed  with  austere  displeasure  on  the  follies  and 
vices  of  the  elegant  world,  which  she  beheld  from  afar. 
Wounded  pride,  and  a  sense  of  her  own  worth,  gave  strength 
to  those  feelings ;  but,  wherever  chance  might  have  placed 
her,  a  soul  so  ardent,  and  naturally  so  democratic  as  was  hers, 
could  never  have  sympathised  with  the  aristocratic  indiffer- 
ence and  f  rivolousness  of  the  upper  classes.  On  the  accession 
of  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette,  her  parents  took  her  to 
Versailles.  She  saw  at  a  distance  the  splendours  of  the  court, 
and  marked,  with  contempt  and  irritation,  the  idolatrous  wor- 
ship paid  by  the  courtiers  to  the  new  sovereign.  She  thought 
of  ancient  Athens,  that  scat  of  magnificence  and  freedom ; 
but  she  only  thought  of  its  just  and  happy  times.  She  forgot 
the  death  of  Socrates,  the  exile  of  Aristides,  and  the  condem- 
nation of  Phocion  :  "I  did  not  know,"  she  adds,  whilst  re- 
tracing those  emotions  of  her  youth  in  her  lonely  prison, 
"that  Heaven  reserved  me  to  witness  errors  like  those  of 
which  they  became  the  victims,  and,  after  having  professed 


118  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

their  principles,  to  participate  in  the  glory  of  a  similar  per- 
secution." 

These  republican  feelings  increased  the  stoical  nature  of  her 
character:  she  looked  upon  life  as  a  struggle  and  a  duty. 
The  knowledge  of  truth  and  the  constant  love  of  excellence 
were  the  only  boons  she  asked  of  Heaven  :  "  0  Thou,  who 
hast  placed  me  upon  earth,"  she  exclaimed,  addressing  the 
Divinity,  to  whom,  in  spite  of  sophistical  arguments,  her 
heart  ever  returned,  "grant  me  to  fulfil  my  destiny  in  the 
manner  most  conformable  to  Thy  holy  will  and  the  good  of 
my  brethren."  But  this  resignation  was  not  entire.  Manon 
viewed  her  position  with  involuntary  dissatisfaction.  She  felt 
that,  with  her  opinions,  she  was  shackled  by  the  fetters  of 
society  :  she  was  not  free,  she  could  not  act ;  and,  as  she 
passionately  exclaimed,  addressing  her  friend,  "  My  whole 
strength  is  wasted  in  vainly  endeavouring  to  shake  off  my 
fetters.  0  Liberty !  idol  of  energetic  souls,  source  of  every 
virtue,  thou  art  but  a  name  for  me." 

The  writings  of  Eousseau,  with  which  she  became  ac- 
quainted towards  this  epoch,  produced  a  powerful  impres- 
sion upon  her  mind  :  she  eagerly  seized  on  whatever  his  phi- 
losophy held  of  noble  and  pure,  and  longed  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  him  personally.  One  of  her  friends,  desirous 
of  gratifying  her,  furnished  her  with  an  opportunity  of  paying 
the  admired  writer  a  visit.  He  had  been  commissioned  to 
deliver  Rousseau  a  letter ;  instead  of  calling  with  it  himself, 
he  gave  it  to  Mademoiselle  Phlipon,  who,  not  to  take  the  phi- 
losopher by  surprise,  wrote  to  him,  warning  him  of  her  visit, 
and  of  its  object.  Rousseau  was  probably  in  one  of  his 
gloomy  fits  when  he  received  the  letter  of  his  young  admirer ; 
the  handwriting  was  that  of  a  woman,  but  the  conciseness 
and  energy  of  style,  convinced  him  it  was  the  production  of  a 
man.  Evidently  this  was  only  another  trap  of  his  numerous 
enemies  :  their  malice  was  apparent  in  the  ch  jice  of  the 
acent,  a  young  and,  probably,  beautiful  girl,  whom  he  would 
not  be  likely  to  mistrust. 

Unconscious  of  the  suspicions  she  had  roused,  Manon,  with 


MANON  S  REPUBLICAN  PRINCIPLES.  119 

a  beating  heart,  left  her  father's  house  on  the  appointed  day, 
and  proceeded  to  the  gloomy  dwelling  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Platriere,  where  Rousseau  then  resided.  She  ascended  the 
dark  staircase,  and  paused  before  the  narrow  door  of  the  illus- 
trious Genevese,  with  mingled  emotion  and  respect.  She  rang 
the  bell ;  the  sour-faced  Therese  opened  the  door,  eyed  her 
suspiciously,  and  when  she  had  explained  the  object  of  her 
visit,  abruptly  informed  her  that  M.  Rousseau  knew  she  was 
not  the  author  of  the  letter  she  had  sent ;  that  the  stratagem 
was  discovered,  and  that  he  would  not  see  her ;  with  this  she 
closed  the  door  in  her  face.  Little  did  Rousseau  suspect 
that  the  young  girl  thus  unceremoniously  dismissed  from  his 
threshold,  was  destined  to  become  one  of  the  first  and  most 
illustrious  victims  of  the  democratic  principles  it  had  been  the 
study  of  his  lifetime  to  teach. 

Whilst  the  mind  of  the  engraver's  daughter  was  thus  ab- 
sorbed by  study  and  philosophy,  her  serene  and  modest  beauty 
attracted  much  admiration  in  the  vicinity  of  her  father's 
dwelling.  She  received  various  offers  of  marriage  from  wealthy 
tradesmen,  but  refused  them  all.  The  idea  of  uniting  herself 
to  a  man  with  tastes  and  feelings  inferior  to  her  own  revolted 
her  :  to  remain  single  was,  in  her  opinion,  a  far  more  preferable 
fate.  She  watched  with  jealous  care  over  every  feeling  of  her 
heart,  and,  as  though  actuated  by  a  foreknowledge  of  her  high 
destiny,  proudly  avoided  indulging  in  anything  resembling  an 
unworthy  affection.  A  young  man  named  De  la  Blancherie 
produced,  however,  some  impression  upon  her.  He  was 
amiable  and  talented  ;  she  thought  his  character  equal  to  her 
own,  and  invested  him  with  all  the  heroism  and  magnanimity 
in  which  her  ardent  soul  delighted.  Events  soon  undeceived 
her  :  she  beheld  in  La  Blancherie  an  ordinary  mortal,  and  her 
love  vanished  with  the  illusion  which  had  created  it.  "  If  I 
could  be  induced  to  love  by  mere  eyesight,"  she  wrote  to 
Sophie  Cannet,  "  I  would  sooner  die  of  shame  than  yield  to 
such  love."  "  Burn  nothing  of  wdiat  I  write  to  you,"  she  ob- 
served, in  allusion  to  the  same  subject,  and  betraying  that  self- 
severity  which  ever  characterised  her  ;  "  even  should  my  letters 


120  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

be  one  day  seen  by  the  whole  world,  I  do  not  wish  to  conceal 
the  only  proofs  of  my  feelings  and  my  weakness."  Man  on 
certainly  did  not  dream,  as  she  wrote  this,  that  her  supposition 
would  one  day  be  realised,  and  that  the  confidential  letters 
addressed  to  Sophie  Cannet,  and  carefully  preserved  by  her, 
would  be  published,  and  reveal  to  the  world  all  the  purity 
and  truth  of  her  nature. 

The  sudden  death  of  Madame  Phlipon  was  the  first  real 
sorrow  which  fell  on  her  daughter.  She  had  loved  her  mother 
passionately,  and  her  grief  was  overwhelming.  She  gradually 
sank  into  a  state  of  languor,  which  for  some  time  endangered 
her  life.  With  her  good  and  gentle  mother  vanished  the 
happiness  Manon  had  enjoyed  in  the  home  of  her  youth. 
Her  father  plunged  into  dissipation  and  extravagance,  and 
foolishly  squandered  his  daughter's  property  as  well  as  his 
own.  The  grief  she  felt  at  M.  Phlipon's  imprudent  conduct, 
and  her  own  altered  prospects  could  not,  however,  disturb  the 
cheerful  serenity  of  Manon's  temper  :  she  found  in  all  her  sor- 
row that  severe  pleasure  which  results  from  the  consciousness 
of  inward  rectitude  and  unmerited  reproach  calmly  endured. 
She  saw  clowds  lowering  over  her  dark  horizon,  but  she  turned 
not  away  from  the  path  :  she  still  went  onward,  "  gathering 
her  courage,"  in  her  own  forcible  expression,  "as  a  cloak 
around  her,"  and  calmly  waiting  the  coming  of  the  storm. 

Notwithstanding  the  alteration  which  she  foresaw  in  her 
father's  circumstances,  Manon  still  inflexibly  refused  to  marry. 
It  was  not  until  her  hand  was  asked  by  Roland  de  la  Platiere 
that  her  resolve  wavered.  Roland,  whom  she  had  known  for 
several  years,  was  then  on  the  verge  of  fifty.  Tall  and  thin 
in  person,  reserved  and  somewhat  abrupt  in  his  manners,  with 
a  harsh  voice  and  a  severe  look,  few  would  have  thought 
Roland  likely  to  fascinate  a  young  and  beautiful  woman. 
Nor  was  it  love,  indeed,  which  Manon  felt  for  him.  Since 
her  unhappy  experiment  with  La  Blancherie,  she  held  love 
as  a  beautiful  chimera.  But  if  she  did  not  believe  in  the 
reality  of  this  feeling — such  as  she  understood  it — she  had 
still  faith  in  friendship  and  esteem,  and  held  no  destiny  so 


MANON  AGAIN  RETIRES  TO  A  CONVENT.  121 

worthy  of  a  woman's  ambition  as  that  of  wife  and  mother.  Be- 
neath the  austere  aspect  of  Roland,  she  saw  and  admired  a 
soul  worthy  of  an  ancient  philosopher  by  its  stern  and  un- 
yielding virtues.  His  character  was  one  which  the  passionate 
admirer  of  Plutarch's  heroes  could  well  appreciate.  In  her 
enthusiasm  she  even  over-rated  his  qualities  ;  of  which  a  rigid 
and  uncompromising  honesty  of  purpose  was  the  most  promi- 
nent. If  there  was  in  him  much  to  command  esteem,  it  could 
not  be  said  that  there  was  much  to  love. 

The  beauty  and  superior  mind  of  Mademoiselle  Phlipon  in- 
spired Roland  with  a  very  sincere  feeling  of  admiration.  With 
her  approbation,  he  asked  her  hand  from  her  father ;  but  M. 
Phlipon  had  conceived  a  secret  dislike  for  the  rigid  philosopher, 
and  refused  to  give  his  consent.  Manon  acted  with  sudden 
and  unexpected  decision.  Several  circumstances  had  long 
rendered  it  desirable  that  she  should  cease  to  reside  in  her 
father's  house  ;  she  now  left  it,  and  retired  to  the  convent 
where  she  had  formerly  spent  a  year.  The  narrow  income 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother  did  not  permit  her  to  enter 
this  establishment  as  a  boarder  :  she  only  rented  a  small  room, 
where  she  prepared  her  own  food,  consisting  of  the  coarsest 
and  cheapest  vegetables.  Notwithstanding  the  severity  of  her 
privations,  books,  music,  and  drawing,  still  yielded  her  their 
accustomed  pleasures  ;  the  only  interruption  to  these  occupa- 
tions was  the  time  she  devoted  to  the  mending  of  her  father's 
linen ;  for,  notwithstanding  their  separation,  she  still  rigidly 
fulfilled  the  most  minute  of  her  duties  towards  him.  The 
sense  of  freedom,  and  the  secret  and  severe  pleasure  she  always 
found  in  stoic  endurance,  supported  her  under  this  trying  dis- 
pensation. 

Roland  took  six  months  to  reflect  on  the  course  he  had 
better  adopt  with  regard  to  Mademoiselle  Phlipon.  When  he 
returned  to  Paris — he  had  been  at  Amiens  all  this  time — he 
determined  on  offering  her  his  hand  once  more.  The  cool  pru- 
dence of  his  conduct  had  greatly  abated  her  first  enthusiasm ; 
but  the  high  esteem  she  felt  for  his  character,  more  than  the 
sense  of  her  loneliness,  induced  her,  after  a  little  hesitation,  to 


122  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

accept  his  offer.  They  were,  accordingly,  married  in  1781 : 
Manon  was  then  in  her  twenty-fourth  year.  In  this  union 
Madame  Koland  found  peace  and  happiness  ;  but  such  happi- 
ness as  few  women  would  envy.  The  love  of  Roland  was  a 
love  selfish  and  domineering,  to  which  he  expected  every  feel- 
ing of  his  wife  to  yield.  So  jealous  was  he  of  her  exclusive 
affection,  that  he  exacted  from  her  the  sacrifice  of  every  female 
friendship  of  her  youth.  This  injudicious  severity  would  have 
alienated  from  him  the  heart  of  any  other  woman ;  but  the 
high  esteem  she  felt  for  her  husband,  the  entire  confidence  he 
reposed  in  her,  and  her  own  stern  sense  of  duty,  enabled 
Madame  Roland  to  bear  the  trials  of  her  new  lot.  A  year 
after  her  marriage  she  proceeded  with  Roland  to  Amiens,  where 
he  was  inspector  of  several  important  manufactories.  It  was 
there  that  she  gave  birth  to  her  daughter  and  only  child,  that 
Eudora  whom  she  so  passionately  loved. 

From  the  first,  Madame  Roland  assisted  her  husband  in  the 
literary  labours  he  undertook :  she  transcribed  his  composi- 
tions, corrected  the  proof-sheets,  and,  with  a  humility  rare  in 
one  of  her  high  talents,  seldom  ventured  to  oppose  or  contra- 
dict his  opinions.  Domestic  tasks  and  walks  in  the  country 
were  the  only  relaxations  of  this  severe  and  monotonous  exist- 
ence. From  Amiens  they  removed,  after  four  years,  to  Ville- 
franche  near  Lyons,  the  home  of  Roland.  Here  Madame 
Roland,  though  not  without  sufficient  annoyance  from  her 
husband's  relatives — a  younger  brother  and  an  aged  mother-in- 
law — led  the  same  calm  domestic  life,  in  which  she  found  the 
happiness  which  attends  the  accomplishment  of  a  noble  and 
self-imposed  duty.  Her  charity  to  the  poor,  the  kindness 
with  which  she  assisted  them  in  their  necessities,  or  attended 
them  when  they  were  sick,  soon  caused  her  to  be  almost  wor- 
shipped in  the  vicinity  of  her  new  home.  The  opening  events 
of  the  French  Revolution  first  disturbed  this  obscure  but 
happy  existence. 

The  dawn  of  that  great  convulsion,  so  full  as  it  was  then  of 
glorious  hopes,  so  free  from  presentiments  of  evil,  filled  the 
republican  soul  of  Madame  Roland  with  a  fervent  enthusiasm. 


MADAME  KOLAND'S  ENTHUSIASM.  123 

which  she  communicated  to  the  colder  mind  of  her  husband. 
She  knew  not  what  events  might  bring  forth  for  her ;  but, 
whether  it  was  good  or  evi],  she  rejoiced  with  her  whole  heart 
at  the  prospect  of  the  general  welfare,  and  energetically  pro- 
tested her  willingness  to  submit  without  a  murmur  to  whatever 
fate  might  decree.     "  Blood  may  be  shed,"  she  enthusiastically 
wrote  from  her  retirement  to  a  friend,  "  but  tyranny  will  not 
be  re-established  :  her  iron  throne  is  tottering  throughout  all 
Europe.     The  efforts  of  the  potentates  can  only  accelerate  its 
fall.     Let  it  fall !  even  though  we  should  be  buried  beneath 
its  ruins  !     A  new  generation  will  arise  to  enjoy  the  freedom 
we  shall  have  bequeathed,  and  to  bless  our  efforts  in  its  cause." 
A  sort  of  dim  consciousness  of  the  future  seemed  to  haunt  her 
mind  even  in  the  calm  retreat  of  Villefranche.     As  early  as 
1790,  we  find  her  protesting,  in  a  letter  to  one  of  her  political 
friends,  that  "  whenever  it  may  be  her  destiny  to  die,  she  shall 
know  how  to  leave  life  with  feelings  worthy  of  her  friends 
and  her  country."     It  is  easy  to  imagine  with  what  feelings 
of  deep  interest  she  watched  from  her  solitude  the  progress  of 
events.     The  time  was  gone  when  she  wept  at  not  having  been 
born  in  one  of  the  republics  of  old.     Now,  she  proudly  thought, 
France  need  no  longer  envy  ancient  freedom.     "Was  she  not 
pure,  regenerated,  and  free  1     The  political  opinions  of  Roland 
caused  him  to  be  elected  one  of  the  first  members  of  the 
municipality  of  Lyons  :  he  was  sent  to  Paris  by  this  body  in 
the  early  part  of  1791.     Madame  Roland  accompanied  him  to 
the  capital. 

Almost  immediately  after  her  arrival,  she  hastened  to  the 
Constituent  Assembly.  She  was  dissatisfied  with  all  she  saw 
and  heard  there.  Her  clear  and  practical  mind  soon  grew 
wearied  of  the  endless  discussions  which  marked  every  meet- 
ing. She  had  little  faith  in  constitutional  monarchy.  That  a 
nation  which  could  regain  its  entire  freedom,  should  surrender 
a  considerable  portion  of  it  to  a  monarch  formerly  possessed 
of  unlimited  authority,  and  never  regret  it;  and  that  this 
monarch,  educated  in  the  idea  of  divine  right,  should  be  satis- 
fied with  exactly  the  portion  of  power  given  him  by  the  nation. 


124  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

and  never  seek  for  more,  seemed  to  her  equally  dangerous  and 
improbable.  The  event  shewed  that  she  was  in  the  right : 
that  abuses  had  extended  too  far  for  constitutional  monarchy 
to  prove  successful  in  France,  and  that  a  republic  was  almost 
the  only  possible  solution  of  numerous  difficulties.  Roland 
had,  amongst  the  members  of  the  extreme  party,  many  con- 
nexions who  were  as  dissatisfied  with  the  prospect  of  consti- 
tutional monarchy  as  Madame  Roland.  The  beauty  of  this 
remarkable  woman,  her  enthusiasm  and  eloquence,  soon  exer- 
cised a  powerful  fascination  over  her  husband's  friends.  Pe- 
thion,  Buzot,  Brissot,  and  Robespierre,  met  four  times  a  week 
at  her  house,  to  discuss  the  measures  it  was  expedient  for 
them  to  adopt  in  the  National  Assembly.  Madame  Roland 
took  no  share  in  those  discussions :  like  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
when  Louis  XIV.  and  his  ministers  met  in  her  boudoir,  she 
sat  apart,  busy  with  some  piece  of  needle-work,  or  even  writ- 
ing letters,  a  deeply-interested  though  silent  observer  of  all 
that  passed.  The  tediousness,  the  hesitation,  which  marked 
these  lengthy  and  fruitless  conversations  annoyed  her  decisive 
and  energetic  mind.  She  longed  to  utter  her  own  brief  and 
practical  opinions  on  the  subjects  discussed,  but  that  feeling  of 
womanly  reserve,  which  never  forsook  her,  always  checked  the 
words  as  they  rose  to  her  lips. 

Notwithstanding  her  apparent  calmness,  she  was  already 
seized  with  the  revolutionary  fever.  She  felt,  as  must  have 
felt  all  those  who  were  cast  on  that  stormy  sea,  a  new  intensity 
in  the  power  of  existence.  "  We  live  ten  years  in  twenty-four 
hours,"  she  wrote  to  one  of  her  friends,  in  July  1791.  And 
it  was  well  that  it  should  be  so  ;  for  those  whose  hours  sped 
along  thus  swiftly,  gathering  years  in  their  brief  compass,  were 
destined  to  perish  in  their  youth,  long  before  the  span  of  life 
allotted  to  humanity  should  have  been  exhausted.  The  death 
of  Mirabeau,  who  alone  opposed  the  tide  of  democracy  and 
the  imprudent  flight  of  the  king  to  Varennes,  increased  the 
republican  feelings  of  Madame  Roland.  She  lost  all  faith 
in  the  sincerity  of  Louis  XVI.  :(  How  could  it  be  believed." 
she  impatiently  asked,  "  that  a  king  who  had  fled  from 
the  constitution  before  it  was  completed,  would  be  faithful 


RETURNS  TO  DOMESTIC  DUTIES.  125 

to  it  when  it  was  so  evidently  distasteful  to  him  ?  "Why 
capture  him  1  why  bring  him  back  from  Varennes  1  Let  the 
perjured  monarch  fly,  and  the  republic  be  proclaimed  at  once." 
How  much  misery,  blood,  and  shame  might  have  been  spared 
to  France  if  Louis  XVI.,  instead  of  being  brought  back  to 
degradation  and  death,  had  been  allowed  to  proceed  on  his 
journey.  The  }7oung  republic,  pure  and  free,  Avould  not  then 
have  been  stained  with  the  innocent  blood  of  one  whose  only 
crime  was  that  of  being  born  an  absolute  king.  On  the  even- 
ing of  the  day  when  the  monarch's  flight  was  discovered, 
Pethion,  Buzot,  Brissot,  and  Robespierre  had  met  as  usual  at 
the  house  of  Madame  Roland.  The  three  first  and  her  hus- 
band agreed  with  her  concerning  the  expediency  of  a  republic, 
and  considered  the  flight  of  Louis  as  equivalent  to  an  abdica- 
tion. Robespierre  alone  differed  from  them :  it  was  charac- 
teristic of  him  that  he  never  went  further  than  events,  though 
he  was  always  ready  to  go  as  far.  On  this  occasion  he  felt 
convinced  that  the  royalists  had  prepared  a  general  massacre 
of  the  patriots,  and  that  he  should  be  one  of  the  earliest 
victims  :  a  belief  which  gave  a  more  livid  hue  than  usual  to 
his  thin  and  greenish  countenance.  When  Madame  Roland 
and  her  friends  spoke  of  a  republic,  Robespierre  bit  his  nails, 
and  eyeing  his  future  victims,  then  his  friends,  asked  them 
with  a  sneer  what  they  meant  by  a  republic. 

The  republic  of  their  enthusiastic  dreams  was  one  of  freedom 
and  glory,  as  pure  as  it  was  ideal ;  time  shewed  what  blood 
and  tyranny  it  took  for  Robespierre  to  found  his.  In  the 
month  of  September  of  the  year  1791,  Roland,  whose  mission 
was  over,  returned  with  his  wife  to  Villefranche. 

Here  Madame  Roland  resumed  her  domestic  duties  ;  to  all 
appearance  as  calm  as  ever.  But  there  had  arisen  in  her  soul 
a  fever  which  could  only  be  quenched  in  her  blood.  All  the 
burning  enthusiasm  of  her  youth,  all  the  passion  which  slum- 
bered in  her  heart,  and  which  her  marriage  with  Roland  only 
repressed,  broke  forth  with  the  strength  of  a  long-hidden  fire. 
She  gave  to  freedom  and  her  country  that  love  which,  in  her  as 
in  all  noble  minds,  was  only  a  longing  for  ideal  excellence  such 
as  no  human  being  or  earthly  affection  could  have  gratified 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MADAME  ROLAND  AND  THE  GIRONDISTS, 

In  the  month  of  December  of  the  year  1791,  Roland  and  his 
wife,  unable  to  remain  longer  away  from  the  centre  of  agita- 
tion, returned  to  Paris.  The  constitution  had  been  accepted 
by  the  king.  The  labours  of  the  Constituent  Assembly  were 
over,  and  those  of  the  Legislative  Assembly  now  began. 

Three  parties  divided  the  new  assembly  :  the  Girondists, 
the  Mountaineers,  and  the  Plain.  The  first  took  their  name 
from  the  department  of  the  Gironde,  whence  most  of  them 
came  :  they  were  young,  eloquent,  and  enthusiastic  men  ; 
but  rash,  inexperienced,  and  deficient  in  firmness  or  stability- 
With  far  less  talent,  and  much  more  violence,  than  the 
Girondists,  the  Mountaineers  carried  in  their  convictions  an 
earnestness  and  fanaticism  which  could  scarcely  fail  to  insure 
their  ultimate  triumph.  They  were  called  Mountaineers, 
from  the  elevated  benches  on  which  they  sat  in  the  Assem- 
bly. The  name  of  Plain  was  given  to  a  weak  and  moderate 
party  which  occupied  the  central  and  lowest  portion  of  the 
house. 

The  unhappy  dissensions  of  the  Girondists  and  Moun- 
taineers, which  proved  the  ruin  of  the  republic,  did  not  begin 
in  earnest  until  the  fall  of  monarchy.  Previously  to  the  10  th 
of  August,  serious  differences  arose  between  these  two  par- 
ties ;  but  they  were  not  such  as  to  prevent  them  from  act- 
ing together  every  time  a  new  blow  could  be  directed  against 
royal  authority.  This  bond  of  republican  feeling  gradually 
drew  them  around  Madame  Roland.  Without  seeking  for  it, 
she  thus  found  herself  ere  long  the  nucleus  of  a  large  and 
powerful  party.     The  singular  and  expressive  beauty  of  her 


INFLUENCE  OF  MADAME  EOLAND.  127 

face  and  person,  which  reminded  some  of  her  admirers  of 
.Rousseau's  Julie,  the  native  elegance  and  dignity  of  her 
manners,  her  harmonious  voice  and  flowing  language,  and, 
above  all,  the  fervour  and  eloquence  of  her  patriotism,  seemed 
to  mark  her  out  for  the  part  which  had  been  instinctively 
assigned  to  her.  She  presided  over  political  meetings  with 
so  much  tact  and  discretion,  as  to  appear  a  calm  spectator : 
whilst  she,  in  reality,  imparted  her  own  fervent  enthusiasm 
to  all  those  who  came  near  her.  The  young  and  handsome 
Barbaroux,  the  elegant  Buzot,  the  licentious  Louvet,  Sillery, 
the  husband  of  Madame  de  Genlis,  Vergniaud,  the  orator, 
equally  admired  and  respected  her.  Though  possessed  of 
more  than  ordinary  attractions,  and  married  to  a  man  who 
might  have  been  her  father ;  though  surrounded  by  men, 
young,  handsome,  and  eloquent ;  Madame  Roland,  strong  in 
her  severe  purity,  preserved  her  character  and  reputation 
unsullied.  Her  friends  spoke  of  her  with  mingled  venera- 
tion and  enthusiasm.  "  0  Roland  !  Roland  ! "  exclaimed 
Louvet,  after  her  untimely  death,  "how  many  virtues  have 
they  assassinated  with  thee  !  how  much  virtue,  beauty,  and 
genius  have  they  not  immolated,  in  the  person  of  thy  wife — a 
far  greater  man  than  thou  ever  wert !  " 

The  admiration  his  wife  excited  was  the  cause  of  Roland's 
rise  and  ruin.  When  the  Girondist  ministry  was  formed,  in 
March  1792,  his  friends  had  him  named  Minister  of  the 
Interior.  Madame  Roland,  without  allowing  herself  to  be 
dazzled  by  her  new  position,  quietly  removed  from  her  little 
apartment  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  to  the  splendid  hotel 
formerly  occupied  by  Calonne  and  Necker.  Her  political 
power  during  this  her  husband's  first  ministry  was,  like  that 
she  had  previously  exercised,  great  though  occult.  She 
influenced  not  only  the  acts  of  her  husband,  who  reposed 
unbounded  confidence  in  her,  but  likewise  those  of  the  entire 
Girondist  party.  She  generally  sat  in  a  little  drawing-room, 
furnished  with  extreme  simplicity,  and  where  Roland  re- 
ceived his  colleagues  and  most  intimate  friends.  They  con- 
certed their  measures  in  her  presence,  and  often  asked  and 


128  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

took  her  advice.  Her  tact  and  gentleness  were  especially 
displayed  in  moderating  their  discussions  whenever  they 
became  too  animated. 
/"  Madame  Roland  instinctively  imparted  to  the  Girondists 
J  that  feeling  of  mistrust  against  the  king,  which  was  strength- 
/  ened  in  her  by  the  earnestness  of  her  republican  tendencies. 
Sbe  had  no  faith  hi  the  sincerity  of  Louis  XVI.  since  the 
flight  to  Varennes,  and  despised  his  vacillating  weakness. 
She  believed  the  calumnious  imputations  cast  on  the  morals 
of  the  queen,  and  hated  her  as  the  persevering  enemy  of 
freedom.  If  she  was  too  severe,  and  often  unjust,  towards 
the  sovereigns,  Madame  Roland  did  not  err  when  she  pro- 
nounced the  constitution  impracticable.  Experience  only 
strengthened  this  conviction,  which  the  Girondists  gradually 
learned  to  share.  They  had  never  been  very  sincere  partisans 
of  constitutional  monarchy,  and  they  now  affected  to  consider 
the  sovereign  as  a  secret  foe,  whom  it  Avas  their  duty  to 
.watch  and  detect.  Let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  neither  Louis 
XVI.  nor  Marie  Antoinette  could  appear  to  their  contem- 
poraries as  they  have  since  been  seen  by  posterity,  with  a 
halo  of  misfortune  to  purify  and  exalt  their  characters.  They 
were  then  real,  unromantic,  and  imprudent  human  beings, 
most  awkwardly  and  unhappily  placed  in  the  path  of  the 
revolution.  Notwithstanding  their  prejudices,  the  Girondist 
ministers  were  frequently  touched  by  the  evident  goodness  of 
heart  of  the  king ;  but  the  imprudently-avowed  hatred  of  the 
queen  for  the  constitution,  and  her  well-known  influence  over 
her  husband,  steeled  them  against  Louis  XVI.,  even  more 
effectually  than  the  persevering  mistrust  of  Madame  Roland. 
This  mistrust,  caused  by  a  jealous  love  of  freedom,  is  the 
only  stain  which  rests  on  her  political  career.  It  unfor- 
tunately happens  that,  in  times  of  national  strife  and  con- 
vulsion, few,  even  amongst  the  most  noble-minded,  are  willing 
to  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  their  opponents ;  they  are  thus 
led,  not  only  into  injustice,  but  into  great  political  errors. 
The  exaggerated  doubts  of  Madame  Roland,  and  of  the 
Girondists,  concerning  the  sincerity  of  the  king,  ultimately 


HEE  LETTEE  TO  THE  KING.  129 

proved  as  fatal  to  themselves  as  to  the  sovereign.  In  one 
respect,  however,  the  penetration  of  Madame  Roland  did  not 
deceive  her :  she  perceived  from  the  first  the  double  part 
Dumouriez  was  playing,  and  she  repeatedly  warned  her  hus- 
band and  his  colleagues  of  that  general's  insincerity. 

"With  this  mistrust  on  one  side,  and  a  hesitation  which 
almost  warranted  it  on  the  other,  the  policy  of  the  ministers 
and  that  of  the  king  daily  became  more  irreconcilable.  The 
ministers  exacted  that  he  should  sanction  the  decrees  of  the 
assembly  against  the  emigrants  and  the  clergy,  and  Louis 
refused  to  give  those  decrees  the  sanction  by  which  they 
were  to  become  law.  Madame  Eoland,  rendered  impatient 
by  this  delay,  and  feeling  anxious  to  screen  her  husband 
from  any  responsibility  he  might  incur,  advised  him  to  write 
a  letter  to  the  king  urging  him  to  compliance,  and  to  keep  a 
copy  of  this  letter  for  his  personal  justification.  Roland 
consented,  and,  as  his  wife  always  assisted  him  in  his  literary 
compositions,  he  now  requested  her  to  undertake  this  which 
she  had  suggested  :  she  complied.  This  famous  letter  was 
couched  in  the  most  austere  language  :  it  contained  truths, 
but  too  harshly  expressed  to  be  acceptable.  Had  it  been 
written  to  a  powerful  monarch,  this  letter  would  have  been 
courageous  and  noble,  but  addressed  to  a  weak  and  captive 
king  on  the  brink  of  nun,  it  was  cruel  and  ungenerous.  Her 
hatred  for  royalty,  and  her  zeal  for  the  republic,  rendered 
Madame  Roland  unjust.  The  only  effect  which  the  letter  she 
had  written  in  her  husband's  name  produced  upon  the  king, 
was  to  make  him  persist  in  his  conduct,  and  dismiss  his 
ministry.  Roland  immediately  read  the  copy  of  his  letter  to 
the  assembly,  as  a  justification  of  his  conduct.  The  resist- 
ance of  the  king,  and  his  dismissal  of  the  popular  ministers, 
heightened  the  deep  feeling  of  irritation  which  already  existed 
against  Louis  XVI.  Roland  and  the  other  ministers  were 
hailed  as  martyrs  to  their  patriotism,  and  Roland's  letter  was 
ordered  to  be  printed,  and  sent  to  the  eighty-three  depart- 
ments. 

The  power  of  Madame  Roland  was  not  such  as  to  vanish 
VOL.  II.  i 


130  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

with  station.  Her  influence  was  never  greater  than  in  the 
humble  apartment  of  the  faubourg  St  Jacques,  to  which  she 
retired  on  leaving  the  minister's  splendid  hotel.  The  Giron- 
dists, now  openly  aiming  at  a  republic,  gathered  around  her, 
and  spoke  with  more  freedom  than  they  had  yet  displayed. 
Amongst  those  who  then  visited  her  assiduously  was  Barba- 
rous, whom  a  vague  conjecture  asserts  to  have  been  the 
object  of  that  secret  passion  to  which  Madame  Roland 
remotely  alludes  in  a  passage  of  her  Memoirs. 

Barbarous  was  the  handsomest  of  the  Girondists  :  he  came 
from  Marseilles,  where  the  descendants  of  the  Grecian  colonists 
often  inherit  the  old  classic  beauty  of  their  ancestors.  Hand- 
some as  an  Antinous,  eloquent  and  patriotic,  Barbarous  may 
have  appeared  to  Madame  Roland  the  realisation  of  her  youth- 
ful dreams.  Her  beauty  and  noble  character  inspired  him 
with  a  deep  and  respectful  admiration.  He  soon  discerned, 
that  if  "  of  all  modern  men  Roland  most  resembled  Cato,"  it 
..was  to  his  wife  that  he  owed  his  courage  and  talents.  They 
frequently  conversed  on  the  state  of  the  country,  on  the  per- 
fidy of  the  court,  and  the  failing  cause  of  freedom.  Once, 
when  Roland  had  been  expressing  his  mournful  apprehensions, 
"  his  wife,"  observes  Barbaroux  in  his  Memoirs,  "  wept  as  she 
listened  to  him  ;  I  wept  myself,  as  I  looked  upon  her."  "With 
the  promptness  which  characterised  him,  Barbaroux  suggested 
to  his  friends  that  the  south  of  France  might  be  made  the 
stronghold  of  freedom.  As  the  enthusiastic  young  man 
developed  his  plan,  and  spoke  of  the  republican  tendencies 
of  his  countrymen,  the  austere  brow  of  Roland  gradually  be- 
came more  serene,  whilst  his  beautiful  wife,  drying  her  tears, 
listened  with  hopeful  joy.  If  any  love  did  indeed  exist  be- 
tween these  two  kindred  spirits,  it  was  such  as  neither  would 
have  blushed  to  avow. 

A  few  days  after  Roland's  dismissal  from  the  ministry, 
the  events  of  the  20th  of  June  took  place;  the  10th  of 
August  and  the  fall  of  monarchy  speedily  followed.  Roland 
and  his  colleagues  were  recalled  to  power  :  his  wife  re-entered 
the  minister's  hotel ;   the  triumphant  Girondists  once  more 


MASSACKES  OF  SEPTEMBER.  131 

gathered  around  her  :  but  their  day  was  gone,  and,  after 
sharing  their  errors  and  illusions,  Madame  Roland  was  now 
destined  to  endure  their  sufferings  and  noble  martyrdom. 

The  events  of  the  10th  of  August  could  never  have  taken 
place  but  for  the  union  of  the  Girondists  and  the  Mountain- 
eers. Casting  aside  their  dissensions,  the  two  parties  united 
their  efforts  for  that  one  day  :  but  they  renewed  their  quarrel 
on  the  morrow.  In  their  impatience  of  once  more  getting 
into  power  and  founding  the  republic,  the  Girondists  over- 
looked the  immense  advantage  they  gave  to  a  daring  and 
unscrupulous  party.  When  their  object  was  gained,  they 
wished  to  check  the  progress  of  the  anarchy  they  had  helped 
to  create ;  but  the  Mountaineers  had  now  their  own  ends  to 
further,  and  they  were  prepared  to  make  their  road  to  popular 
favour  through  blood,  were  it  so  needed.  They  soon  perceived 
how  shrinkingly  the  Girondists  held  back  whenever  the  blood 
of  the  innocent  was  at  stake,  and  yet  how  reluctant  they 
were  to  yield  their  popularity.  The  Mountaineers  made  a 
fearful  use  of  the  scruples  and  weakness  of  their  antagonists  ; 
who  now  found  themselves,  like  Mirabeau  at  the  epoch  of  his 
death,  in  the  path  of  the  torrent  they  had  let  loose.  Com- 
pelled to  endure  the  massacres  of  September  and  the  execution 
of  Louis  XVI.  for  the  sake  of  their  own  safety,  they  revolted, 
at  length,  against  this  sanguinary  tyranny,  and  perished  for 
having  protested  against  the  Reign  of  Terror. 

No  sooner  was  monarchy  overthrown  than  the  Girondists 
perceived  their  weakness.  Danton  and  his  accomplices  organ- 
ised a  general  massacre  of  the  royalists  then  imprisoned  in 
Paris.  Roland,  though  Minister  of  the  Interior,  only  pos- 
sessed a  nominal  power  :  the  real  authority  was  invested  in 
the  hands  of  Danton ;  the  use  he  made  of  that  authority  was 
to  deluge  the  prisons  with  blood.  Never  were  female  heroism 
and  devotedness  displayed  more  conspicuously  than  during 
those  fearful  massacres.  They  began  on  the  2d  of  Septem- 
ber 1792,  at  the  Abbaye,  with  the  murder  of  thirty  priests, 
and  of  the  Swiss  soldiers  imprisoned  since  the  10th  of 
August. 


132  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

An  usher  named  Maillard  attempted  to  give  some  shew  of 
legality  to  these  hideous  doings.  He  presided  in  the  prison 
over  a  mock  tribunal,  before  which  the  victims  were  summoned 
in  rapid  succession  :  a  few  were  purposely  acquitted.  Amongst 
those  who  came  to  receive  their  sentence,  was  M.  de  Sombreuil, 
the  obnoxious  governor  of  the  Invalides,  and  whose  name 
has  been  immortalised  by  the  heroic  devotedness  of  his 
daughter.  Her  love  for  her  father  had  induced  her  to  share 
his  captivity  and  dangers  ever  since  his  arrest.  On  the  day 
of  the  massacre,  she  stood,  from  the  beginning,  near  the 
tribunal,  within  hearing  of  all  that  passed,  ready  to  perish 
with  her  father.  He  came,  was  heard,  and  condemned.  The 
door  of  the  court-yard  where  the  victims  met  their  fate  opened, 
but  Mademoiselle  de  Sombreuil  threw  herself  before  the  old 
man ;  she  clung  to  him  with  the  energy  of  despair,  and  in 
heart-rending  accents  besought  the  blood-stained  murderers  to 
spare  her  father's  life.  Moved  by  her  tears  and  passionate 
entreaties,  they  granted  the  request ;  but  on  a  fearful  condition : 
blood  was  then  flowing  around  them  like  water ;  the  blood  of 
the  aristocrats  •  would  she  prove  her  patriotism  by  drinking  a 
glass  of  the  still  warm  tide.  "  Give  it,"  she  energetically 
replied,  "  you  will  see  what  a  daughter  can  do  for  her  father ; " 
and  she  drank  unshrinkingly.  The  courage  of  her  love  awed 
the  monsters  around  her :  struck  with  admiration,  they  pro- 
tected her  against  their  comrades,  and  took  her  and  her 
father  home  in  triumph. 

The  youthful  daughter  of  the  author  Cazotte  emulated  the 
heroism  of  Mademoiselle  de  Sombreuil,  whose  room  she 
shared  in  the  Abbaye.  The  enthusiastic  piety  of  Cazotte, 
and  his  correspondence  with  Laporte,  were  the  crimes  for 
which  he  had  been  incarcerated.  His  daughter,  of  her  own 
accord,  accompanied  him  to  prison ;  she  knew  some  time 
beforehand  of  the  massacres  that  were  going  to  take  place — 
for  the  fact  was  generally  suspected — and  endeavoured  to 
conciliate  the  ferocious  Marseillaise,  by  whom  it  was  to  be 
effected.  Softened  by  her  youth  and  beauty,  they  promised 
to  spare  her  father's  life.  Notwithstanding  this  assurance, 
Mademoiselle  Cazotte  accompanied  her  father  to  the  tribunal ; 


FEMALE  HEEOISM  AND  DEVOTEDNESS.  133 

he  was  condemned ;  but  when  the  door  opened  that  led  to 
the  fatal  court,  his  child,  like  Mademoiselle  de  Sombreuil, 
threw  herself  before  him,  and  interceded  for  his  life.  The 
Marseillaise,  faithful  to  their  promise,  saved  them  both  from 
the  fury  of  the  crowd,  and  did  not  leave  them  until  they  had 
found  a  safe  asylum.  One  of  the  men  who  had  rendered 
themselves  guilty  of  this  act  of  compassion,  confessed  the 
fact,  with  some  misgiving,  to  Marat  on  the  following  day. 
Thirsting  as  he  did  for  the  blood  of  the  aristocrats,  Marat 
could  not  restrain  his  tears  as  he  heard  of  the  heroic  devoted- 
ness  of  Cazotte's  daughter.  "  Nay,"  he  exclaimed,  "  the 
father  who  had  such  a  child  deserved  to  live."  The  pure  and 
holy  love  of  Mademoiselle  Cazotte  could  not,  however,  shield 
her  father  from  further  danger  :  a  short  time  after  the  mas- 
sacres of  September,  he  was  again  incarcerated  ;  his  daughter 
was  sent  to  a  different  prison,  and  not  released  until  he  had 
perished  on  the  scaffold,  lest  she  should  soften  judges  as  she 
had  softened  murderers. 

The  royalist  ladies  imprisoned  after  the  10th  of  August 
were,  from  the  beginning  of  the  massacre,  marked  out  as  fit 
victims  of  the   popular  hatred.      The  Princess   de   Tarente 
gloried  with  undaunted  courage,  in   her  friendship  for  the 
queen,  defied  her  murderers,  and  roused,  by  her  daring  spirit, 
whatever  trace  of  generosity  still  lingered  in  their  hearts  :  she 
was  dismissed  unhurt.     The  Princess  of  Lamballe  proved  less 
fortunate.     Her  father-in-law,  the  Duke  of  Penthi^vre,  who 
loved  her  as  his  own  child,  spent  a  hundred  thousand  crowns 
in  order  to  purchase  her  life  from  her  gaolers  and  judges. 
Her  known  attachment  to  Marie  Antoinette  was  the  only 
crime  of  this  beautiful  and  amiable  woman.     She  was  incar- 
cerated in  the  prison  of  La  Force,  and  for  two  days  remained 
in  her  cell  apparently  forgotten  by  the  murderers  :   from  her 
room  she  could  hear  the  sounds  of  the  massacre  below  ;  rend- 
ered almost  unconscious  by  terror,  she  only  wakened  from  one 
fainting  fit  to  sink  into  another.     On  the  second  day  two 
National  Guards  entered  her  room,  and  abruptly  bade  her 
follow  them  to  the  Abbaye  :  she  rose,  hastily  attired  herself, 
and  obeyed.      On  reaching  the  tribunal,  and  beholding  the 


134  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

traces  of  the  recent  massacre,  she  fainted  away  with  horror. 
When  she  recovered  consciousness,  her  judges  bade  her  swear 
to  love  equality  and  freedom,  and  hate  kings  and  queens.  "  I 
can  take  the  first  oath,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  hatred  of  the  king 
and  queen  I  cannot  swear,  for  it  is  not  in  my  heart."  "  Swear," 
said  one  of  the  judges,  "or  you  perish."  The  princess  re- 
mained silent.  They  then  ordered  her  to  be  taken  out  into 
the  street,  recommending  her  to  cry  out,  "  Long  live  the 
nation  !"  as  soon  as  she  left  the  prison.  She  forgot  to  do  so, 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  on  beholding  the  pave- 
ment strewn  with  corpses.  Her  pure  and  touching  beauty 
interested  many  of  those  who  now  gazed  upon  her,  and, 
anxious  to  save  her,  they  exclaimed  from  the  crowd,  "  Cry 
out,  'Long  live  the  nation !'  and  nothing  shall  be  done  to  thee." 
The  princess  was,  unfortunately,  too  terrified  to  obey  :  the 
silence  of  fear  was  taken  for  the  refusal  of  defiance  :  a  blow 
was  aimed  at  her  head ;  her  blood  flowed  ;  in  an  instant  she 
was  felled  to  the  earth,  and  murdered,  with  circumstances  of 
the  most  atrocious  barbarity.  Her  head,  borne  on  a  pike, 
was  carried  all  over  Paris,  and  displayed  before  the  win- 
dows of  the  royal  family  in  the  Temple.  The  king  threw 
himself  before  Marie  Antoinette,  and  drew  her  away  before 
her  look  could  rest  on  the  livid  features  of  her  murdered 
friend. 

The  Princess  of  Lamballe  was  not  the  last  victim  :  her 
death,  which  made  the  old  Duke  of  Penthievre  die  with 
grief,  was  but  the  prelude  of  deeds  more  hideous  still,  but 
foreign  to  the  purport  of  this  work. 

Theroigne  de  Mericourt,  and  women  of  her  stamp,  took  an 
active  share  in  these  massacres.  The  wives  of  the  "  egor- 
geurs"  (cut-throats)  regularly  brought  their  husbands  their 
soup,  as  though  they  were  engaged  in  some  ordinary  work. 
Heroism,  devoted  love,  pity,  fierceness,  and  callous  indiffer- 
ence, were  alike  displayed  during  those  clays  of  terror ;  which, 
whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary,  were  indeed  "  the  crime 
of  a  few  men,  but  not  the  crime  of  liberty."  * 

*  Laniartine,  Hist,  des  Girondins,  vol.  iii.,  p.  400. 


MADAME  ROLAND'S  HORROR  AT  THE  MASSACRE.     135 

The  soul  of  Madame  Roland  was  filled  with  horror  at  what 
she  saw  and  heard.  If  anything  increased  her  despair,  it  was 
the  consciousness  that  her  husband,  though  Minister  of  the 
Interior,  could  not  prevent,  could  not  do  anything.  "  We  are 
under  the  knife  of  Robespierre  and  Marat,"  she  despairingly 
wrote  to  a  friend,  on  the  5th  of  September  ;  and  on  the  9th 
she  added,  "  You  know  my  enthusiasm  for  the  revolution ; 
well,  I  am  ashamed  of  it  now  :  it  has  been  sullied  by  mon- 
sters ;  it  is  hideous."  The  proclamation  of  the  republic, 
which  at  another  time  would  have  filled  her  with  joy,  now 
seemed  to  her  prophetic  soul  but  the  forerunner  of  the  fall  of 
the  men  by  whom  that  republic  had  been  founded.  The 
Girondists  themselves  were  not  unconscious  of  their  approach- 
ing destiny.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  the  re- 
public was  proclaimed,  they  met  at  the  house  of  Madame 
Roland.  At  the  close  of  their  frugal  supper,  Vergniaud  rose, 
and  filled  his  glass,  in  order  to  drink  to  the  republic.  Before 
he  drank,  Madame  Roland  scattered  rose  leaves,  from  her  bou- 
quet, over  the  wine,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  ancients. 
When  the  beverage  was  quaffed,  Vergniaud,  setting  down  the 
glass,  turned  towards  Barbaroux,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Branches  of  the  cypress-tree,  Barbaroux,  not  roses,  should 
have  been  scattered  on  our  wine  to-night  :  who  knows,  if,  in 
drinkin0-  to  a  republic  whose  cradle  is  steeped  in  the  blood 
of  September,  we  be  not  drinking  to  our  own  deaths  ?  Never- 
theless, and  if  this  wine  were  my  blood,  I  would  still  quaff  it 
to  equality  and  freedom." 

The  energetic  protest  of  Roland  against  the  massacres  drew 
down  on  him,  and  on  his  wife,  who  was  known  to  have  in- 
spired it,  the  hatred  of  Marat  and  Danton.  No  consideration 
of  policy  or  safety  could  induce  Madame  Roland  to  suffer  the 
intimacy  or  protection  of  a  man  who  always  appeared  to  her 
stained  with  the  blood  of  September.  Notwithstanding  Dan- 
ton's  attempts  to  effect  a  reconciliation,  she  never  ceased — 
from  September  1792  to  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.  in  Jan- 
uary 1793,  when  Boland  resigned — to  urge  her  husband  to 
a  noble  though  unavailing  resistance  against  the  power  of  the 


136  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Mountaineers.     This  energetic  abhorrence  of  crime  and  crimi- 
nals she  communicated  to  the  whole  party  of  the  Gironde. 
The  passion  and  eloquence  which  had  hastened  the  progress 
of  the  revolution,  were  now  all  directed  to  the  holy  object  of 
purifying  it  from  the  stains  cast  upon  it  by  a  few  guilty  men. 
And  in  this,  her  second  and  nobler  task,  she  displayed  still 
more  fearlessness  and  independence  than  when  she  urged  her 
friends  to  the  overthrow  of  royalty.     The  power  of  Madame 
Roland  over  the  Girondists  at  this  epoch,  and  the  apprehen- 
sions her  eloquence  and  energy  excited,  are  proved  by  the 
hatred  which  was  suddenly  displayed  against  her   by  the 
Jacobins.     Marat  included  her  in  his  denunciations  against 
the  Girondists,  and  assailed  her  in  the  coarsest  terms  in  his 
Ami  du  Peuple.     Matters  went  so  far  that  her  life  and  that 
of  Roland  were   openly  threatened.      On  several  occasions, 
they  were  persuaded  by  their  friends  to  leave  the  ministerial 
hotel,  and  sleep  in  some  secure  place.     Madame  Roland  com- 
plied very  reluctantly.      Her  heroic  soul  told  her  that  if  such 
a  crime  were  to  be  committed  by  the  anarchists,  the  very 
horror  it  would  inspire  might  be  useful  to  liberty.     She  justly 
thought  that  those  who  engage  in  a  revolution,  and  who  value 
honour  and  freedom,  must  learn  to  count  life  as  nothing.     To- 
wards the  close  of  her  husband's  ministry,  when  events  be- 
came daily  more  critical,  she  absolutely  refused  to  leave  the 
hotel.     The  only  precaution  she  adopted,  was  to  sleep  with  a 
pistol  under  her  pillow,  in  order  to  protect  herself  from  the 
brutality  of  those  who  might  attempt  her  life. 

The  quarrels  of  the  Jacobins  and  the  Girondists  became 
more  bitter  and  incessant  as  they  drew  to  a  close.  The  Gi- 
rondists inexorably  repulsed  Danton  every  time  he  attempted 
a  reconciliation :  they  would  either  have  a  pure  republic,  or 
they  would  perish.  Urged  by  Madame  Roland,  they,  more- 
over, resolved  to  attack  Robespierre  ;  whose  power  had  rapidly 
increased.  In  a  speech  of  memorable  eloquence,  Louvet  un- 
veiled the  secret  ambition  of  the  revolutionary  pharisee :  but 
the  attack  only  recoiled  on  its  authors,  and  tended  to  strengthen 
the    power    of  the    future   dictator.       The    resolve     of    the 


M.  ROLAND  RESIGNS.  137 

Convention  to  accuse  and  judge  the  king  might  alone  have 
warned  the  Girondists  of  their  fate.  A  friend  of  Madame 
Roland  was  with  her  and  her  husband  when  they  learned 
this  important  decision  of  the  Convention.  "  The  Convention 
both  accuses  and  judges,"  exclaimed  Eoland  ;  "  it  is  dishon- 
oured !"  His  -wife  said  nothing;  but  when  their  child  came 
in,  she  pressed  her  to  her  heart,  and  wept  silently.  Impa- 
tient to  ruin  a  woman  from  whose  talents  and  energy  they 
felt  they  had  so  much  to  fear,  the  Jacobins  sought  to  impli- 
cate Madame  Roland  in  an  imaginary  royalist  conspiracy, 
through  the  agency  of  a  contemptible  spy  named  Viard.  She 
was  summoned  before  the  bar  of  the  Convention,  in  order  to 
justify  herself  from  Viard's  accusations.  She  appeared  in  the 
assembly  with  the  easy  dignity  that  always  characterised  her. 
On  being  asked  her  name,  "  My  name  is  Roland,"  she  replied, 
"  a  name  of  which  I  am  proud  ;  for  it  is  that  of  a  good  and 
honourable  man."  Several  other  questions  were  addressed  to 
her,  such  as,  "  If  she  knew  Viard  1  when  she  had  seen  him  ? 
and  what  had  passed  between  them  % "  She  answered,  that 
Viard  had  twice  written  to  her  to  obtain  an  interview ;  that 
she  had  seen  him  once  ;  and,  after  some  conversation,  having 
discovered  him  to  be  a  spy,  had  dismissed  him  with  contempt. 
The  evident  falsehood  of  Viard's  accusation,  and  the  simple 
dignity  of  Madame  Roland's  replies,  told  equally  in  her  favour. 
Amidst  the  general  applause  of  the  members,  the  president 
decreed  that  the  honours  of  the  sitting  belonged  to  her.  The 
Jacobins  in  the  galleries  remained  silent.  Marat  rose,  and 
pointing  to  them,  gloomily  observed  :  "  Look  at  that  public  ; 
it  is  wiser  than  you  are." 

The  trial  of  Louis  XVI.  betrayed  the  increasing  weakness 
of  the  Girondists.  Many  of  them  not  only  sympathised  with 
him  as  a  man,  but  thought  that  the  nation,  though  it  might 
depose,  could  not  judge  its  monarch.  Rut,  with  this  convic- 
tion, they,  nevertheless,  sanctioned  the  trial,  and  took  part  in 
it;  lest  their  refusal  should  furnish  the  Jacobins  with  a  pre- 
tence of  accusing  them  of  royalist  tendencies.  Two  days  after 
the  king's  execution,  on  the  23d  of  January  1793,  Roland  re- 


138  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

signed  his  post ;  which  had  long  been  purely  nominal.  Op- 
pressed with  grief  at  the  dangers  she  foresaw  for  the  republic, 
Madame  Roland  lived  in  great  retirement.  A  few  of  her 
friends  still  visited,  however,  the  woman  whom  Marat  and 
Camile  Desmoulins  attacked  in  their  pamphlets,  and  whom 
Danton  openly  denounced  as  the  Circe  of  the  republic.  The 
only  charm  she  used  was  that  of  her  own  heroic  spirit,  which 
she  sought  to  infuse  into  the  men  who  struggled  for  freedom 
against  anarchy.  This  struggle  was  drawing  to  a  close.  After 
several  unsuccessful  attempts,  the  Jacobins  resolved  to  coerce 
the  Convention  into  submission  to  their  will :  that  will  was, 
that  the  twenty-two  Girondist  members  should  be  accused  of 
treason,  arrested,  and  condemned.  For  that  purpose  they  or- 
ganised an  insurrection,  which  lasted  from  the  30th  of  May  to 
the  2d  of  June.  The  Convention,  threatened,  insulted,  and 
besieged,  at  length  yielded  to  force,  and  passed  the  decree 
which  doomed  its  most  illustrious  and  eloquent  members  to 
death,  and  France  to  anarchy  and  terror. 

The  hatred  of  the  triumphant  Mountaineers  did  not  forget 
either  Roland  or  his  wife.  On  the  evening  of  the  31st  of 
May,  six  armed  men5  provided  with  an  order  from  the  Revolu- 
tionary Committee,  went  to  arrest  the  ex-minister.  Roland 
energetically  declared  that  nothing  but  force  should  induce 
him  to  obey  the  order  of  this  illegal  power.  The  men,  not 
daring  to  enforce  their  mandate,  left  a  guard  upon  Roland 
and  retired  for  new  orders.  Madame  Roland,  though  seri- 
ously ill,  rose,  dressed  herself  hastily,  and  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Convention,  to  protest  against  the  attempted 
outrage.  She  made  her  way  through  the  troops  and  armed 
men  who  surrounded  the  Tuileries,  but  could  not  succeed  in 
gaining  admittance  to  the  hall,  where  the  Girondists  were  then 
engaged  in  their  death  struggle. 

From  the  place  where  she  stood  waiting,  she  could  hear, 
however,  the  sounds  of  the  stormy  debate  within.  Vergniaud, 
on  learning  that  she  was  there,  came  and  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  her.  She  urged  him  to  procure  her  admittance  ; 
she  thought  that   an   energetic  and  eloquent  reproof  might 


ARREST  OF  MADAME  ROLAND.  139 

rouse,  perchance,  the  Convention  from  the  stupor  into  which 
it  had  been  thrown  by  the  audacity  of  the  Jacobins.  Ver- 
gniaud  dissuaded  her  from  this  course,  of  which  he  shewed 
her  the  perfect  uselessness.  She  returned  home  to  consult 
with  Roland.  He  had  escaped  by  a  back-door,  and  she  found 
him  concealed  in  the  house  of  a  friend.  After  a  short  deli- 
beration between  them,  it  was  agreed  that  she  should  return 
to  the  Convention.  She  did  so  ;  but  when  she  reached  the 
Tuileries,  she  found  that  the  sitting  was  over  :  a  group  of 
canoneers,  who  still  Lingered  on  the  Place  de  la  Revolution, 
where  they  had  come  to  intimidate  the  Convention,  informed 
her  that  the  Jacobins  had  prevailed,  and  that  their  next 
triumph  would  be  the  decree  of  accusation  against  the  Giron- 
dists ;  which  the  assembly  could  not  fail  to  pass  when  it  met 
on  the  following  day. 

Madame  Roland  had  long  been  aware  that  when  her  friends 
fell,  she  must  fall  with  tbem.  She  was  known  to  have  shared 
their  principles,  and  guided  many  of  their  measures;  the 
blame  of  her  husband's  acts  had  been  publicly  thrown  upon 
her  by  Danton  in  the  hall  of  the  Convention,  and  her  political 
part  had  been  sufficiently  remarkable  to  make  her  feel  that 
she  was  bound,  in  honour,  to  accept  its  responsibility,  even 
though  that  responsibility  should  be  death  on  a  scaffold.  It 
was  this  sense  of  duty  that  rendered  her  unwilling  to  leave 
Paris,  as  she  might  have  done,  before  the  31st  of  May.  Con- 
scious of  her  own  innocence,  and  of  the  purity  of  her  motives, 
she  disdained  a  flight  unworthy  alike  of  her  character  and  of 
her  destiny.  The  success  of  the  Jacobins  on  the  31st  of  May 
confirmed  her  in  this  resolve.  The  friend  at  whose  house 
Roland  had  taken  refuge  could  not  let  her  share  his  asylum ; 
she  seized  this  as  a  pretence,  and  returned  home  to  await  her 
fate.  Overcome  with  fatigue  she  was  yielding  to  sleep,  when 
her  servant  entered  her  room  and  informed  her  that  several 
armed  men  requested  to  see  her.  This  was  no  more  than  she 
had  expected.  The  promptness  with  which  they  made  use  of 
their  power  shewed  her  how  deep  and  unrelenting  was  the 
hatred  of  her  enemies.     She  rose,  dressed  herself  carefully,  and 


140  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

appeared  before  her  visitors  ;  they  shewed  her  a  warrant  for 
her  apprehension,  in  which  the  motives  of  her  arrest  were  not 
even  set  forth.  She  knew  the  document  to  be  illegal,  but  per- 
ceiving the  uselessness  of  resistance,  calmly  submitted.  She 
had  already  provided  for  the  safety  of  her  daughter,  and  all 
she  now  asked  for  was  leisure  to  make  her  own  preparations. 
She  did  so  with  perfect  calmness,  notwithstanding  the  crowd 
of  individuals  of  every  sort  who  filled  the  apartment.  At  seven 
in  the  morning  everything  was  in  readiness  to  take  her  to 
prison,  and  she  bade  her  daughter  and  the  weeping  servants  a 
last  farewell;  gently  exhorting  them  to  resignation. 

The  men  who  arrested  her  beheld  with  surprise  the  marks 
of  affection  bestowed  on  a  woman  whom  the  calumnies  of 
Marat  had  taught  them  to  consider  with  abhorrence.  A 
hackney-coach  waited  below  to  convey  her  to  the  Abbaye; 
she  walked  towards  it  between  two  rows  of  armed  men,  who 
followed  the  coach  when  she  had  entered  it.  "  To  the  guillo- 
tine !"  cried  a  few  women  in  the  crowd.  "  Shall  we  draw 
down  the  blinds  V  asked  one  of  the  commissioners.  Madame 
Roland  calmly  refused  :  "  Innocence,"  she  said,  "  has  no  need 
to  put  on  the  aspect  of  crime."  "  You  have  more  strength  of 
mind  than  most  men,"  observed  the  commissioner ;  "  and  you 
will  wait  patiently  for  justice  ! "  "Justice  !"  she  passionately 
exclaimed;  "were  justice  done  to  me,  I  should  not  be  here 
to-day :  but  I  shall  walk  as  calmly  to  the  scaffold  as  I  now 
proceed  to  prison." 

That  prison  was  reached  ere  long.  Was  this,  then,  the  goal 
of  those  high  dreams  and  aspirations  towards  freedom  which 
had  haunted  her  mind  even  from  the  days  of  her  childhood  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY. 


Amongst  the  women  of  the  French  Revolution,  there  is  one 
who  stands  essentially  apart :  a  solitary  episode  of  the  event- 
ful story.  She  appears  for  a  moment,  performs  a  deed, — 
heroic  as  to  the  intention,  criminal  as  to  the  means, — and 
disappears  for  ever  :  lost  in  the  shadow  of  time — an  un- 
fathomed  mystery. 

And  it  is,  perhaps,  this  very  mystery  that  has  invested  with 
so  much  interest  the  name  of  one  known  by  a  single  deed ; 
which,  though  intended  by  her  to  deliver  her  country,  changed 
little  in  its  destinies.  To  admire  her  entirely  is  impossible  ; 
to  condemn  her  is  equally  difficult.  No  one  can  read  her 
history  without  feeling  that,  to  judge  her  absolutely,  lies  not 
in  the  province  of  man.  Beautiful,  pure,  gentle,  and  a  mur- 
deress, she  attracts  and  repels  us  in  almost  equal  degrees ; 
like  all  those  beings  whose  nature  is  inexplicable  and  strange, 
according  to  the  ordinary  standard  of  humanity.  Although 
it  is  generally  acknowledged  that  she  did  not  exercise  over 
contemporary  events  that  repressing  power  for  which  she 
sacrificed  her  life,  it  is  felt,  nevertheless,  that  no  history  of 
the  times  in  which  she  lived,  is  complete  without  her  name ; 
and  to  her  brief  and  tragic  history  an  eloquent  modern  his- 
torian *  has  devoted  some  of  his  most  impressive  pages.  This 
would  be  a  sufficient  apology  for  introducing  her  here,  were 
not,  moreover,  her  name  as  closely  linked  with  the  history  of 
the  Girondists  as  that  of  Madame  Roland.  If  one  was  the 
chief  of  that  ill-fated  party,  the  other  undertook  to  be  their 


avenger. 


*  Lnmartinr!. 


142  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

The  31st  of  May  was  the  signal  of  the  fall  and  dispersion 
of  the  Girondists.  Some,  like  Barbarous,  Buzot,  Louvet, 
and  their  friends,  retired  to  the  provinces,  which  they  en- 
deavoured to  rouse  for  one  last  struggle.  Others,  like  Madame 
Eoland  and  the  twenty-two,  prepared  themselves  in  their 
silent  prison  solitude  for  death  and  the  scaffold.  The  name 
of  the  Girondists  now  became  a  sound  as  proscribed  as  that 
of  royalist  had  been  during  their  brief  sway.  No  voice  gifted 
with  power  was  raised  throughout  the  republic  in  favour  of 
the  men  by  whom,  in  the  midst  of  such  enthusiastic  acclama- 
tions, that  republic  had  been  founded.  France  was  rapidly 
sinking  into  that  state  of  silent  apathy  which  foreboded  the 
Reign  of  Terror  :  discouraged  by  their  experience  of  the  past, 
men  lost  their  faith  in  humanity,  and  selfishly  despaired  of 
the  future.  A  maiden's  heroic  spirit  alone  conceived  the 
daring  project  of  saving  those  who  had  so  long  and  so  nobly 
striven  for  freedom ;  or,  if  this  might  not  be,  of  avenging 
their  fall,  and  striking  terror  into  the  hearts  of  their  foes,  by 
a  deed  of  solemn  immolation,  worthy  of  the  stern  sacrifices  of 
paganism,  offered  up  of  yore  on  the  blood-stained  shrines  of 
the  goddess  Nemesis. 

This  maiden  was  Marie- Anne  Charlotte  of  Corday  and  of 
Armont,  one  of  the  last  descendants  of  a  noble  though  im- 
poverished Norman  family,  which  counted  amongst  its  near 
relatives,  Fontenelle,  the  wit  and  philosopher  of  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries,  and  amongst  its  ancestors,  the 
father  of  the  great  tragic  poet  of  France,  Pierre  Corneille. 

Her  father,  Jacques  of  Corday  and  of  Armont,  was  a  younger 
son  of  this  noble  line.  He  was,  however,  poorer  than  many 
of  the  peasants  amongst  whom  he  lived,  cultivating  with  his 
own  hands  his  narrow  inheritance.  He  married  in  early  life 
a  lady  of  gentle  blood,  but  as  poor  as  himself.  They  had  five 
children  and  a  noble  name  to  support,  in  a  vain  show  of  dig- 
nity, on  their  insufficient  income.  It  thus  happened  that 
Charlotte,  their  fourth  child  and  second  daughter,  was  born 
in  a  thatched  dwelling,  in  the  village  of  Saint-Saturnin  des 
Lignerets  ;  and  that  in  the  register  of  the  parish  church  where 


CHARLOTTE  COED  AY.  143 

she  was  baptized,  on  the  2Sth  of  July  1768,  the  day  after  her 
birth,  she  is  described  as  "  born  in  lawful  wedlock  of  Jacques 
Francois  of  Corday,  esquire,  sieur  of  Armont,  and  of  the  noble 
dame  Marie  Charlotte-Jacqueline,  of  Gauthier  des  Authieux, 
his  wife."  It  was  under  these  difficult  circumstances,  which 
embittered  his  temper,  and  often  caused  him  to  inveigh  in 
energetic  terms  against  the  injustice  of  the  law  of  primogeni- 
ture, that  M.  d' Armont  reared  his  family.  As  soon  as  they 
were  of  age,  his  sons  entered  the  army ;  one  of  his  daughters 
died  young ;  and  he  became  a  widower  when  the  other  two 
were  emerging  from  childhood  into  youth.  They  remained 
for  some  time  with  their  father,  but  at  length  entered  the 
Abbaye  aux  Dames,  in  the  neighbouring  town  of  Caen. 

The  greatest  portion  of  the  youth  of  Charlotte  Corday — to 
give  her  the  name  by  which  she  is  generally  known — was 
spent  in  the  calm  obscurity  of  her  convent  solitude.  Many 
high  visions,  many  burning  dreams  and  lofty  aspirations,  al- 
ready haunted  her  imaginative  and  enthusiastic  mind,  as  she 
slowly  paced  the  silent  cloisters,  or  rested,  lost  in  thought, 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  ancient  elms.  It  is  said  that,  like 
Madame  Eoland,  she  contemplated  secluding  herself  for  ever 
from  the  world  in  her  monastic  retreat ;  but,  affected  by  the 
scepticism  of  the  age,  which  penetrated  even  beyond  convent 
walls,  she  gave  up  this  project.  From  these  early  religious 
feelings,  Charlotte  derived,  however,  the  calm  devotedness 
which  characterised  her  brief  career  :  for  though  self-sacrifice 
may  not  be  the  exclusive  attribute  of  Christianity,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  the  deep  humility  by  which  it  is  accompanied 
— a  feeling  almost  unknown  to  the  ancients — is  in  itself  the 
very  spirit  of  Christ.  The  peaceful  and  solemn  shadow  of  the 
old  cloister  favoured  the  mild  seriousness  of  Charlotte's  char- 
acter. Within  the  precincts  of  her  sacred  retreat  she  grew  up 
in  grave  and  serene  loveliness,  a  being  fit  for  the  gentlest 
duties  of  woman's  household  life,  or  for  one  of  those  austere 
and  fearless  deeds  which  lead  to  the  scaffold  and  give  martyr- 
dom in  a  holy  cause. 

The  scepticism  that  prevailed  for  the  last  few  years  preced- 


144  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

ing  the  revolution  was  not  the  sensual  atheism  which  had 
disgraced  the  eighteenth  century  so  long.  The  faith  in  a  first 
and  eternal  Cause,  in  the  sacredness  of  human  rights  and  the 
holiness  of  duty,  was  firmly  held  by  many  noble  spirits,  who 
hailed  with  enthusiasm  the  first  dawn  of  democracy.  This 
faith  was  blended,  in  the  soul  of  Charlotte  Corday,  with  a 
passionate  admiration  of  antiquity.  All  the  austerity  and 
republican  enthusiasm  of  her  illustrious  ancestor,  Pierre  Cor- 
neille,  seemed  to  have  come  down  to  his  young  descendant. 
Even  Rousseau  and  Eaynal,  the  apostles  of  democracy,  had  no 
pages  that  could  absorb  her  so  deeply  as  those  of  ancient 
history,  with  its  stirring  deeds  and  immortal  recollections. 
Often,  like  Man  on  Phlipon  in  the  recess  of  her  father's  work- 
shop, might  Charlotte  Corday  be  seen,  in  her  convent  cell, 
thoughtfully  bending  over  an  open  volume  of  Plutarch  ;  that 
powerful  and  eloquent  historian  of  all  heroic  sacrifices. 

When  the  Abbaye  aux  Dames  was  closed,  in  consequence 
of  the  revolution,  Charlotte  was  in  her  twentieth  year,  in  the 
prime  of  life  and  of  her  wonderful  beauty ;  and  never,  per- 
haps, did  a  vision  of  more  dazzling  loveliness,  step  forth  from 
beneath  the  dark  convent  portal  into  the  light  of  the  free  and 
open  world.  She  was  rather  tall,  but  admirably  proportioned, 
with  a  figure  full  of  native  grace  and  dignity  :  her  hands,  arms, 
and  shoulders,  were  models  of  pure  sculptural  beauty.  An 
expression  of  singular  gentleness  and  serenity  characterised 
her  fair,  oval  countenance  and  regular  features.  Her  open 
forehead,  dark  and  well-arched  eyebrows,  and  eyes  of  a  gray 
so  deep  that  it  was  often  mistaken  for  blue,  added  to  her 
naturally  grave  and  meditative  appearance ;  her  nose  was 
straight  and  well-formed,  her  mouth  serious  but  exquisitely 
beautiful.  Like  most  of  the  women  of  the  fine  Norman  race, 
she  had  a  complexion  of  transparent  purity ;  enhanced  by 
the  rich  brown  hair  which  fell  in  thick  curls  around  her  neck, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  period.  A  simple  severity 
characterised  her  dress  of  sombre  hue,  and  the  low  and  be- 
coming lace  cap  which  she  habitually  wore  is  still  known  by 
her  name  in  France.     Her  whole  aspect  was  fraught  with  so 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY.  145 

much  modest  grace  and  dignity,  that,  notwithstanding  her 
youth,  the  first  feeling  she  invariably  inspired  was  one  of  re- 
spect, blended  with  involuntary  admiration  for  a  being  of 
such  pure  and  touching  loveliness. 

On  leaving  the  convent  in  which  she  had  been  educated, 
Charlotte  Corday  went  to  reside  with  her  aunt,  Madame 
Coutellier  de  Bretteville  Gouville ;  an  old  royabst  lady,  who 
inhabited  an  ancient-looking  house  in  one  of  the  principal 
streets  of  Caen.  There  the  young  girl,  who  had  inherited  a 
little  property,  spent  several  years,  chiefly  engaged  in  watching 
the  progress  of  the  revolution.  The  feelings  of  her  father 
were  similarly  engrossed :  he  wrote  several  pamphlets  in 
favour  of  the  revolutionary  principles ;  and  one  in  which 
he  attacked  the  right  of  primogeniture.  His  republican 
tendencies  confirmed  Charlotte  in  her  opinions ;  but  of  the 
deep,  overpowering  strength  which  those  opinions  acquired  in 
her  soul,  during  the  long  hours  she  daily  devoted  to  meditation, 
no  one  ever  knew,  until  a  stern  and  fearful  deed — more  stern 
and  fearful  in  one  so  gentle — had  revealed  it  to  all  France. 
A  silent  reserve  characterised  this  epoch  of  Charlotte  Corday's 
life :  her  enthusiasm  was  not  external,  but  inward :  she 
listened  to  the  discussions  which  were  carried  on  around  her 
without  taking  a  part  in  them  herself.  She  seemed  to  feel 
instinctively  that  great  thoughts  are  always  better  nursed  in 
the  heart's  solitude  :  that  they  can  only  lose  their  native 
depth  and  intensity  by  being  revealed  too  freely  before  the 
indifferent  gaze  of  the  world.  Those  with  whom  she  then 
occasionally  conversed  took  little  heed  of  the  substance  of  her 
discourse,  and  could  remember  nothing  of  it  when  she  after- 
wards became  celebrated  ;  but  all  recollected  well  her  voice, 
and  spoke  with  strange  enthusiasm  of  its  pure,  silvery  sound. 
Like  Madame  Roland,  whom  she  resembled  in  so  many  re- 
spects, Charlotte  possessed  this  rare  and  great  attraction ;  and 
there  was  something  so  touching  in  her  youthful  and  almost 
childlike  utterance  of  heroic  thoughts,  that  it  affected  even  to 
tears  those  who  heard  her,  on  her  trial,  calmly  defending  her- 
self from  the  infamous  accusations  of  her  judges,  and  glorying, 
VOL.  II.  K 


14G  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

with  the  same  low,  sweet  tones,  in  the  deadly  deed  which  had 
brought  her  before  them. 

The  fall  of  the  Girondists,  on  the  31st  of  May,  first  sug- 
gested to  Charlotte  Corday  the  possibility  of  giving  an  active 
shape  to  her  hitherto  passive  feelings.  She  watched  with 
intense,  though  still  silent,  interest  the  progress  of  events, 
concealing  her  secret  indignation  and  thoughts  of  vengeance 
under  her  habitually  calm  aspect.  Those  feelings  were 
heightened  in  her  soul  by  the  presence  of  the  fugitive  Giron- 
dists, who  had  found  a  refuge  in  Caen,  and  were  urging  the 
Normans  to  raise  an  army  to  march  on  Paris.  She  found  a 
pretence  to  call  upon  Barbaroux,  then  with  his  friends  at  the 
Intendance.  She  came  twice,  accompanied  by  an  old  servant, 
and  protected  by  her  own  modest  dignity.  Pethion  saw  her 
in  the  hall,  where  she  was  waiting  for  the  handsome  Girondist, 
and  observed,  with  a  smile,  "  So,  the  beautiful  aristocrat  is 
come  to  see  republicans."  "  Citizen  Pethion,"  she  replied, 
"you  now  judge  me  without  knowing  me,  but  a  time  will 
come  when  you  shall  learn  who  I  am."  With  Barbaroux, 
Charlotte  chiefly  conversed  of  the  imprisoned  Girondists;  ot 
Madame  Poland  and  Marat.  The  name  of  this  man  had  long 
haunted  her  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  dread  and  horror.  To 
Marat  she  ascribed  the  proscription  of  the  Girondists,  the 
woes  of  the  republic,  and  on  him  she  resolved  to  avenge 
her  ill-fated  countiy.  Charlotte  was  not  aware  that  Marat 
was  but  the  tool  of  Danton  and  Robespierre.  "  If  such 
actions  could  be  counselled,"  afterwards  said  Barbaroux, 
"it  is  not  Marat  whom  we  would  have  advised  her  to 
strike." 

Whilst  this  deadly  thought  was  daily  strengthening  itself 
in  Charlotte's  mind,  she  received  several  offers  of  marriage. 
She  declined  them,  on  the  plea  of  wishing  to  remain  free  : 
but  strange,  indeed,  must  have  seemed  to  her,  at  that  moment, 
those  proposals  of  earthly  love.  One  of  those  whom  her 
beauty  had  enamoured,  M.  de  Franquelin,  a  young  volunteer 
in  the  cause  of  the  Girondists,  died  of  grief  on  learning  her 
fate  ;  his  last  request  was,  that  her  portrait,  and  a  few  letters 


CHARLOTTE  COEDAY.  147 

he  had  formerly  received  froin  her,  might  be  buried  with  him 
in  his  grave. 

For  several  days  after  her  last  interview  with  Barbaroux, 
Charlotte  brooded  silently  over  her  great  thought;  often 
meditating  on  the  history  of  Judith.  Her  aunt  subsequently 
remembered  that,  on  entering  her  room  one  morning,  she 
found  an  old  Bible  open  on  her  bed  :  the  verse  in  which  it  is 
recorded  that  "the  Lord  had  gifted  Judith  with  a  special 
beauty  and  fairness"  for  the  deliverance  of  Israel  was  under- 
lined with  a  pencil. 

On  another  occasion  Madame  de  Bretteville  found  her 
niece  weeping  alone  ;  she  inquired  the  cause  of  her  tears. 
"  They  flow,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  for  the  misfortunes  of  my 
country."  Heroic  and  devoted  as  she  was,  she  then  also 
wept,  perchance,  over  her  own  youth  and  beauty,  so  soon  to 
be  sacrificed  for  ever.  No  personal  considerations  altered  her 
resolve  :  she  procured  a  passport,  provided  herself  with  money, 
and  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  her  father,  to  inform  him  that, 
considering  the  unsettled  condition  of  France,  she  thought  it 
best  to  retire  to  England.  He  approved  of  her  intention,  and 
bade  her  adieu.  On  returning  to  Caen,  Charlotte  told  the 
same  tale  to  Madame  de  Bretteville,  left  a  secret  provision  for 
an  old  nurse,  and  distributed  the  little  property  she  possessed 
amongst  her  friends. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  9th  of  July  1793,  that  she 
left  the  house  of  her  aunt,  without  trusting  herself  with  a  last 
farewell.  Her  most  earnest  wish  was,  when  her  deed  should 
have  been  accomplished,  to  perish,  wholly  unknown,  by  the 
hands  of  an  infuriated  multitude.  The  woman  who  could 
contemplate  such  a  fate,  and  calmly  devote  herself  to  it,  with- 
out one  selfish  thought  of  future  renown,  had  indeed  the 
heroic  soul  of  a  martyr. 

Her  journey  to  Paris  was  marked  by  no  other  event  than 
the  unwelcome  attentions  of  some  Jacobins  with  whom  she 
travelled.  One  of  them,  struck  by  her  modest  and  gentle 
beauty,  made  her  a  very  serious  proposal  of  marriage  :  she 
playfully  evaded  his  request,  but  promised  that  lie   should 


14S  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

learn  who  and  what  she  was  at  some  future  period.  On 
entering  Paris,  she  proceeded  immediately  to  the  Hotel  de  la 
Providence,  Rue  des  Vieux  Augustins,  not  far  from  Marat's 
dwelling.  Here  she  rested  for  two  days,  before  calling  on  her 
intended  victim.  Nothing  can  mark  more  forcibly  the  singular 
calmness  of  her  mind  :  she  felt  no  hurry  to  accomplish  the 
deed  for  which  she  had  journeyed  so  far,  and  over  which  she 
had  meditated  so  deeply :  her  soul  remained  serene  and  un- 
daunted to  the  last.  The  room  which  she  occupied,  and 
which  has  often  been  pointed  out  to  inquiring  strangers,  was 
a  dark  and  wretched  attic,  into  which  light  scarcely  ever 
penetrated.  There  she  read  again  the  volume  of  Plutarch  she 
had  brought  with  her, — unwilling  to  part  from  her  favourite 
author,  even  in  her  last  hours, — and  probably  composed  that 
energetic  address  to  the  people  which  was  found  upon  her 
after  her  apprehension.  One  of  the  first  acts  of  Charlotte 
was  to  call  on  the  Girondist,  Duperret,  for  whom  she  was 
provided  with  a  letter  from  Barbaroux,  relative  to  the  sup- 
posed business  she  had  in  Paris  :  her  real  motive  was  to  learn 
how  she  could  see  Marat.  She  had  first  intended  to  strike 
him  in  the  Champ  de  Mars,  on  the  14th  of  July,  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  fall  of  the  Bastile,  when  a  great  and  imposing 
ceremony  was  to  take  place.  The  festival  being  delayed,  she 
resolved  to  seek  him  in  the  Convention,  and  immolate  him  on 
the  very  summit  of  the  mountain ;  but  Marat  was  too  ill  to 
attend  the  meetings  of  the  National  Assembly  :  this  Charlotte 
learned  from  Duperret.  She  resolved,  nevertheless,  to  go  to 
the  Convention,  in  order  to  fortify  herself  in  her  resolve. 
Mingling  with  the  horde  of  Jacobins  who  crowded  the  galleries, 
she  watched  with  deep  attention  the  scene  below.  Saint  Just 
was  then  urging  the  Convention  to  proscribe  Lanjuinais,  the 
heroic  defender  of  the  Girondists.  A  young  foreigner,  a 
friend  of  Lanjuinais,  and  who  stood  at  a  short  distance  from 
Charlotte,  noticed  the  expression  of  stern  indignation  which 
gathered  over  her  features;  until,  like  one  overpowered  by 
her  feelings  and  apprehensive  of  displaying  them  too  openly, 
she  abruptly  left  the  place.     Struck  with  her  whole  appear- 


CHARLOTTE  CORD  AY.  149 

ance,  he  followed  her  out ;  a  sudden  shower  of  rain,  which 
compelled  them  to  seek  shelter  under  the  same  archway, 
afforded  him  an  opportunity  of  entering  into  conversation  with 
her.  When  she  learned  that  he  was  a  friend  of  Lanjuinais, 
she  waived  her  reserve,  and  questioned  him  with  much  inte- 
rest concerning  Madame  Roland  and  the  Girondists.  She 
also  asked  him  about  Marat,  with  whom  she  said  she  had 
business.  "  Marat  is  ill ;  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  apply 
to  the  public  accuser,  Fouquier  Tinville,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  I  do  not  want  him  now,  but  I  may  have  to  deal  with  him 
yet,"  she  significantly  replied. 

Perceiving  that  the  rain  did  not  cease,  she  requested  her 
companion  to  procure  her  a  conveyance ;  he  complied ;  and, 
before  parting  from  her,  begged  to  be  favoured  with  her 
name.  She  refused;  adding,  however,  "You  will  know  it 
before  long."  With  Italian  courtesy,  he  kissed  her  hand  as 
he  assisted  her  into  the  fiacre.  She  smiled,  and  bade  him 
farewell. 

Charlotte  perceived  that  to  call  on  Marat  was  the  only 
means  by  which  she  might  accomplish  her  purpose.  She  did 
so  on  the  morning  of  the  13th  of  July,  having  first  purchased 
a  knife  in  the  Palais  Royal,  and  written  him  a  note,  in  which 
she  requested  an  interview.  She  was  refused  admittance. 
She  then  wrote  him  a  second  note,  more  pressing  than  the 
first,  and  in  which  she  represented  herself  as  persecuted  for 
the  cause  of  freedom.  Without  waiting  to  see  what  effect 
this  note  might  produce,  she  called  again  at  half-past  seven 
the  same  evening. 

Marat  then  resided  in  the  Rue  des  Cordeliers,  in  a  gloomy- 
looking  house,  which  has  since  been  demolished.  His  con- 
stant fears  of  assassination  were  shared  by  those  around  him ; 
the  porter,  seeing  a  strange  woman  pass  by  his  lodge  without 
pausing  to  make  any  inquiry,  ran  out  and  called  her  back. 
She  did  not  heed  his  remonstrance,  but  swiftly  ascended  the 
old  stone  staircase,  until  she  had  reached  the  door  of  Marat's 
apartment.  It  was  cautiously  opened  by  Albertine,  a  woman 
with  whom  Marat  cohabited,  and  who  passed  for  his  wife. 


150  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Kecognising  the  same  young  and  handsome  girl  who  had 
already  called  on  her  husband,  and  animated,  perhaps,  by  a 
feeling  of  jealous  mistrust,  Albertine  refused  to  admit  her; 
Charlotte  insisted  with  great  earnestness.  The  sound  of  their 
altercation  reached  Marat;  he  immediately  ordered  his  wife 
to  admit  the  stranger,  whom  he  recognised  as  the  author  of 
the  two  letters  he  had  received  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
Albertine  obeyed  reluctantly ;  she  allowed  Charlotte  to  enter ; 
and,  after  crossing  with  her  an  antechamber,  where  she  had 
been  occupied  with  a  man  named  Laurent  Basse  in  folding 
some  numbers  of  the  Ami  du  Peuple,  she  ushered  her 
through  two  other  rooms,  until  they  came  to  a  narrow  closet 
where  Marat  was  then  in  a  bath.  He  gave  a  look  at  Charlotte, 
and  ordered  his  wife  to  leave  them  alone  :  she  complied,  but 
allowed  the  door  of  the  closet  to  remain  half  open,  and  kept 
within  call. 

According  to  his  usual  custom,  Marat  wore  a  soiled  hand- 
kerchief bound  round  his  head,  increasing  his  natural  hideous- 
ness.  A  coarse  covering  was  thrown  across  the  bath ;  a 
board,  likewise  placed  transversely,  supported  his  papers. 
Laying  down  his  pen,  he  asked  Charlotte  the  purport  of  her 
visit.  The  closet  was  so  narrow  that  she  touched  the  bath 
near  which  she  stood.  She  gazed  on  him  with  ill-disguised 
horror  and  disgust,  but  answered,  as  composedly  as  she  could, 
that  she  had  come  from  Caen,  in  order  to  give  him  correct 
intelligence  concerning  the  proceedings  of  the  Girondists 
there.  He  listened,  questioned  her  eagerly,  wrote  down  the 
names  of  the  Girondists,  then  added,  with  a  smile  of  triumph, 
"  Before  a  week,  they  shall  have  perished  on  the  guillotine." 
" These  words,"  afterwards  said  Charlotte,  "sealed  his  fate." 
Drawing  from  beneath  the  handkerchief  which  covered  her 
bosom  the  knife  she  had  kept  there  all  along,  she  plunged  it 
to  the  hilt  in  Marat's  heart.  He  gave  one  loud  expiring  cry 
for  help,  and  sank  back  dead  in  the  bath.  By  an  instinctive 
impulse,  Charlotte  had  instantly  drawn  out  the  knife  from 
the  breast  of  her  victim,  but  she  did  not  strike  again  ; 
casting  it  down  at  his  feet,  she  left  the  closet,  and  sat  down 


CHARLOTTE  CORD  AY.  151 

in  the  neighbouring  room,  thoughtfully  passing  her  hand 
across  her  brow :  her  task  was  done. 

The  wife  of  Marat  had  rushed  to  his  aid  on  hearing  his  cry 
for  help.  Laurent  Basse,  seeing  that  all  was  over,  turned 
round  towards  Charlotte,  and,  with  a  blow  of  a  chair,  felled 
her  to  the  floor  ;  whilst  the  infuriated  Albertine  trampled  her 
under  her  feet.  The  tumult  aroused  the  other  tenants  of  the 
house ;  the  alarm  spread,  and  a  crowd  gathered  in  the  apart- 
ment, who  learned  with  stupor  that  Marat,  the  Friend  of  the 
People,  had  been  murdered.  Deeper  still  was  their  wonder 
when  they  gazed  on  the  murderess.  She  stood  there  before 
them  with  still-disordered  garments,  and  her  dishevelled  hair, 
loosely  bound  by  a  broad  green  ribbon  falling  around  her; 
but  so  calm,  so  serenely  lovely,  that  those  who  most  abhorred 
her  crime  gazed  on  her  with  involuntary  admiration.  "  Was 
she,  then,  so  beautiful  ?"  was  the  question  addressed,  many 
years  afterwards,  to  an  old  man,  one  of  the  few  remaining 
witnesses  of  this  scene.  "  Beautiful !"  he  echoed,  enthusiasti- 
cally ;  adding,  with  the  eternal  regrets  of  old  age  :  "  Ay,  there 
is  none  such  now  !" 

The  commissary  of  police  began  her  interrogatory  in  the 
saloon  of  Marat's  apartment.  She  told  him  her  name,  how 
long  she  had  been  in  Paris,  confessed  her  crime,  and  recognised 
the  knife  with  which  it  had  been  perpetrated.  The  sheath 
was  found  in  her  pocket,  with  a  thimble,  some  thread,  money, 
and  her  watch. 

"  What  was  your  motive  in  assassinating  Marat  1 "  asked  the 
commissary. 

"  To  prevent  a  civil  war,"  she  answered. 

"Who  are  your  accomplices'?" 

"  I  have  none." 

She  was  ordered  to  be  transferred  to  the  Abbaye,  the  nearest 
tn.  An  immense  and  infuriated  crowd  had  gathered 
around  the  door  of  Marat's  house;  one  of  the  witnesses  per- 
il that  she  would  have  liked  to  be  delivered  to  this  mad- 
dened multitude,  and  thus  perish  at  once.  She  was  not  saved 
from  their  hands  without  difficulty;  her  courage  failed  her  :it 


152  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

the  sight  of  the  peril  she  ran,  and  she  fainted  away  on  being 
conveyed  to  the  fiacre.  On  reaching  the  Abbaye,  she  was 
questioned  until  midnight  by  Chabot  and  Drouet,  two  Jacobin 
members  of  the  Convention.  She  answered  their  interroga- 
tories with  singular  firmness ;  observing,  in  conclusion  :  "  I 
have  done  my  task,  let  others  do  theirs."  Chabot  threatened 
her  with  the  scaffold  ;  she  answered  him  with  a  smile  of  dis- 
dain. Her  behaviour  until  the  17th,  the  day  of  her  trial,  was 
marked  by  the  same  firmness.  She  wrote  to  Barbaroux  a 
charming  letter,  full  of  graceful  wit  and  heroic  feeling.  Her 
playfulness  never  degenerated  into  levity  :  like  that  of  the 
illustrious  Thomas  More,  it  was  the  serenity  of  a  mind  that 
death  had  no  power  to  daunt.  Speaking  of  her  action,  she 
observed,  "  I  considered  that  so  many  brave  men  need  not 
come  to  Paris  for  the  head  of  one  man.     He  deserved  not  so 

much  honour  :  the  hand  of  a  woman  was  enough I 

have  never  hated  but  one  being,  and  him  with  what  intensity 
I  have  sufficiently  shewn  ;  but  there  are  a  thousand  whom  I 

love  still  more  than  I  hated  him I  confess  that  I 

employed  a  perfidious  artifice  in  order  that  he  might  receive 
me.  In  leaving  Caen,  I  thought  to  sacrifice  him  on  the  pin- 
nacle of  '  the  mountain,'  but  he  no  longer  went  to  it.  In 
Paris  they  cannot  understand  how  a  useless  woman,  whose 
longest  life  could  have  been  of  no  good,  could  sacrifice  herself 

to  save  her  country May  peace  be  as  soon  established 

as  I  desire  !  A  great  criminal  has  been  laid  low  ....  the 
happiness  of  my  country  makes  mine A  lively  ima- 
gination and  a  feeling  heart  promise  but  a  stormy  life ;  I 
beseech  those  who  might  regret  me  to  consider  this  :  they 
will  then  rejoice  at  my  fate."  A  tenderer  tone  marks  the 
brief  letter  she  addressed  to  her  father  on  the  eve  of  her  trial 
and  death  :  "  Forgive  me,  my  dear  father,"  she  observed,  "  for 
having  disposed  of  my  existence  without  your  permission.  I 
have  avenged  many  innocent  victims.  I  have  warded  away 
many  disasters.  The  people,  undeceived,  will  one  day  rejoice 
at  being  delivered  from  a  tyrant.  If  I  endeavoured  to  per- 
suade you  that  I  was  going  to  England,  it  was  because  I  hoped 


CHARLOTTE  COED  AY.  153 

to  remain  unknown  :  I  recognised  that  this  was  impossible. 
I  hope  you  will  not  be  subjected  to  annoyance  :  you  have  at 
least  defenders  at  Caen ;  I  have  chosen  Gustave  Doulcet  de 
Pontecoulant  for  nrine  :  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  form.  Such  a 
deed  allows  of  no  defence.  Farewell,  my  dear  father.  I  be. 
seech  of  you  to  forget  me ;  or,  rather,  to  rejoice  at  my  fate. 
I  die  for  a  good  cause.  I  embrace  my  sister,  whom  I  love 
with  my  whole  heart.     Do  not  forget  the  line  of  Corneille — 

'Le  crime  fait  la  honte,  et  non  pas  l'ecliafaud.' 

To-morrow  at  eight  I  am  to  be  tried." 

On  the  morning  of  the  17th,  she  was  led  before  her  judges. 
She  was  dressed  with  care,  and  had  never  looked  more  lovely. 
Her  bearing  was  so  imposing  and  dignified,  that  the  spectators 
and  the  judges  seemed  to  stand  arraigned  before  her.  She 
interrupted  the  first  witness,  by  declaring  that  it  was  she  who 
had  killed  Marat.  "  Who  inspired  you  with  so  much  hatred 
against  him  ? "  asked  the  President. 

"  I  needed  not  the  hatred  of  others,  I  had  enough  of  my 
own,"  she  energetically  replied  ;  "  besides,  we  do  not  execute 
well  that  which  we  have  not  ourselves  conceived." 

"What,  then,  did  you  hate  in  Marat?" 

"  His  crimes." 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  have  assassinated  all  the  Marats  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  now  that  he  is  dead,  the  rest  may  fear." 

She  answered  other  questions  with  equal  firmness  and  la- 
conism.  Her  project,  she  declared,  had  been  formed  since 
the  31st  of  May.  "  She  had  killed  one  man  to  save  a  hundred 
thousand.  She  was  a  republican  long  before  the  revolution, 
and  had  never  failed  in  energy." 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  energy  ?"  asked  the  President. 

"  That  feeling,"  she  replied,  "  which  induces  us  to  cast 
aside  selfish  considerations,  and  sacrifice  ourselves  for  our 
country." 

Fouquier  Tinville  here  observed,  alluding  to  the  sure  blow 
she  had  given,  that  she  must  be  well  practised  in  crime. 
"  The  monster  takes  me  for  an  assassin  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 


154  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

tone  thrilling  with  indignation.  This  closed  the  debates,  and 
her  defender  rose.  It  was  not  Doulcet  de  Pontecoulant — who 
had  not  received  her  letter — but  Chauveau  de  la  Garde,  chosen 
by  the  President.  Charlotte  gave  him  an  anxious  look,  as 
though  she  feared  he  might  seek  to  save  her  at  the  expense  of 
honour.  He  spoke,  and  she  perceived  that  her  apprehensions 
were  unfounded.  Without  excusing  her  crime  or  attributing 
it  to  insanity,  he  pleaded  for  the  fervour  of  her  conviction ; 
which  he  had  the  courage  to  call  sublime.  The  appeal  proved 
unavailing.  Charlotte  Corday  was  condemned.  "Without 
deigning  to  answer  the  President,  who  asked  her  if  she  had 
aught  to  object  to  the  penalty  of  death  being  carried  out 
against  her,  she  rose,  and  walking  up  to  her  defender,  thanked 
him  gracefully.  "  These  gentlemen,"  said  she,  pointing  to  the 
judges,  "  have  just  informed  me  that  the  whole  of  my  property 
is  confiscated.  I  owe  something  in  the  prison  :  as  a  proof  of 
my  friendship  and  esteem,  I  request  you  to  pay  this  little  debt." 

On  returning  to  the  conciergerie,  she  found  an  artist,  named 
Hauer,  waiting  for  her,  to  finish  her  portrait,  which  he  had 
begun  at  the  tribunal.  They  conversed  freely  together,  until 
the  executioner,  carrying  the  red  chemise  destined  for  assas- 
sins, and  the  scissors  with  which  he  was  to  cut  her  hair  off, 
made  his  appearance.  "  What,  so  soon  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte 
Corday,  slightly  turning  pale ;  but  rallying  her  courage,  she 
resumed  her  composure,  and  presented  a  lock  of  her  hair  to 
M.  Hauer,  as  the  only  reward  in  her  power  to  offer.  A  priest 
came  to  offer  her  his  ministry.  She  thanked  him  and  the 
persons  by  whom  he  had  been  sent,  but  declined  his  spiritual 
aid.  The  executioner  cut  her  hair,  bound  her  hands,  and 
threw  the  red  chemise  over  her.  M.  Hauer  was  struck  with 
the  almost  unearthly  loveliness  which  the  crimson  hue  of  this 
garment  imparted  to  the  ill-fated  maiden.  "This  toilet  of 
death,  though  performed  by  rude  hands,  leads  to  immortality," 
said  Charlotte  with  a  smile. 

A  heavy  storm  broke  forth  as  the  car  of  the  condemned  left 
the  conciergerie  for  the  Place  de  la  Ptevolution.  An  immense 
crowd  lined    every  street  through  which  Charlotte  Corday 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY.  155 

passed.  Hootings  and  execrations  at  first  rose  on  her  path  ; 
but  as  her  pure  and  serene  beauty  dawned  on  the  multitude, 
as  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  her  countenance  and  the  sculp- 
tural beauty  of  her  figure  became  more  fully  revealed,  pity  and 
admiration  superseded  every  other  feeling.  Her  bearing  was 
so  admirably  calm  and  dignified,  as  to  rouse  sympathy  in  the 
breasts  of  those  who  detested  not  only  her  crime,  but  the 
cause  for  which  it  had  been  committed.  Many  men  of  every 
party  took  off  their  hats  and  bowed  as  the  cart  passed  before 
them.  Amongst  those  who  waited  its  approach,  was  a  young 
German,  named  Adam  Luz,  who  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Eue  Saint  Honore,  and  followed  Charlotte  to  the  scaffold. 
He  gazed  on  the  lovely  and  heroic  maiden  with  all  the  en- 
thusiasm of  his  imaginative  race.  A  love,  unexampled  perhaps 
in  the  history  of  the  human  heart,  took  possession  of  his  soul. 
Not  one  wandering  look  of  "  those  beautiful  eyes,  which  re- 
vealed a  soul  as  intrepid  as  it  was  tender,"  escaped  him. 
Every  earthly  grace  so  soon  to  perish  in  death,  every  trace  of 
the  lofty  and  immortal  spirit,  filled  him  with  bitter  and  in- 
toxicating emotions  unknown  till  then.  "  To  die  for  her ;  to 
be  struck  by  the  same  hand  ;  to  feel  in  death  the  same  cold 
axe  which  had  severed  the  angelic  head  of  Charlotte  ;  to  be 
united  to  her  in  heroism,  freedom,  love,  and  death,  was  now 
the  only  hope  and  desire  of  his  heart." 

Unconscious  of  the  passionate  love  she  had  awakened, 
Charlotte  now  stood  near  the  guillotine.  She  turned  pale  on 
first  beholding  it,  but  soon  resumed  her  serenity.  A  deep 
blush  suffused  her  face  when  the  executioner  removed  the 
handkerchief  that  covered  her  neck  and  shoulders,  but  she 
calmly  laid  her  head  upon  the  block.  The  executioner 
touched  a  spring,  and  the  axe  came  down.  One  of  Sanson's 
assistants  immediately  stepped  forward,  and  holding  up  the 
lifeless  head  to  the  gaze  of  the  crowd,  struck  it  on  either 
cheek.  The  brutal  act  only  excited  a  feeling  of  horror  ;  and 
it  is  said  that — as  though  even  in  death  her  indignant  spirit 
protested  against  this  outrage — an  angry  and  crimson  flush 
passed  over  the  features  of  Charlotte  Corday. 


156  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

A  few  clays  after  her  execution,  Adam  Luz  published  a 
pamphlet,  in  which  he  enthusiastically  praised  her  deed,  and 
proposed  that  a  statue,  with  the  inscription,  "  Greater  than 
Brutus,"  should  be  erected  to  her  memory  on  the  spot  where 
she  had  perished.  He  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison. 
On  entering  the  Abbaye,  he  passionately  exclaimed  :  "  I 
am  going  to  die  for  her  ! "      His  wish  was  fulfilled  ere  long. 

Strange  feverish  times  were  those  which  could  rouse  a 
gentle  and  lovely  maiden  to  avenge  freedom  by  such  a  deadly 
deed;  wbich  could  waken  in  a  human  heart  a  love  whose 
thoughts  were  not  of  life  or  earthly  bliss,  but  of  the  grave  and 
the  scaffold.  Let  the  times,  then,  explain  those  natures, 
where  so  much  evil  and  heroism  are  blended  that  man  cannot 
mark  the  limits  between  both.  Whatever  judgment  may  be 
passed  upon  her,  the  character  of  Charlotte  Corday  was 
certainly  not  cast  in  an  ordinary  mould.  It  is  a  striking  and 
noble  trait,  that  to  the  last  she  did  not  repent :  never  was 
error  more  sincere.  If  she  could  have  repented,  she  would 
never  have  become  guilty. 

Her  deed  created  an  extraordinary  impression  throughout 
France.  On  hearing  of  it,  a  beautiful  royalist  lady  fell  down 
on  her  knees  and  invoked  "  Saint  Charlotte  Corday."  The 
republican  Madame  Eoland  calls  her  a  heroine  worthy  of  a 
better  age.  The  poet,  Andre  Chenier — who,  before  a  year  had 
elapsed,  followed  her  on  the  scaffold — sang  her  heroism  in  a 
soul-stirring  strain. 

The  political  influence  of  that  deed  may  be  estimated  by 
the  exclamation  of  Vergniaud  :  "  She  kills  us,  but  she  teaches 
us  how  to  die  ! "  It  was  so.  The  assassination  of  Marat 
exasperated  all  his  fanatic  partisans  against  the  Girondists. 
Almost  divine  honours  were  paid  to  his  memory ;  forms  of 
prayer  were  addressed  to  him ;  altars  were  erected  to  his 
honour,  and  numberless  victims  sent  to  the  scaffold  as  a  peace- 
offering  to  his  manes.  On  the  wreck  of  his  popularity  rose 
the  far  more  dangerous  power  of  Robespierre  :  a  new  impulse 
was  given  to  the  Reign  of  Terror.  Such  was  the  "  peace " 
which  the  erring  and  heroic  Charlotte  Corday  won  for  France. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
marie  Antoinette's  captivity,  trial,  and  death. 

Marie  Antoinette  had  been  incarcerated  ten  months,  when 
Madame  Roland  was  thrown  into  prison.  The  queen  and  the 
republican  inspirer  of  the  Gironde  had  met  a  like  fate.  The 
scaffold,  which  awaited  them  both,  was  to  complete  the  re- 
semblance between  their  destinies. 

Well  known  as  are  the  details  of  the  captivity  of  the  royal 
family  in  the  Temple,  they  cannot  be  omitted  here.  We  have 
seen  the  queen  in  her  prosperity,  it  is  fitting  to  behold  her  in 
misfortune.  In  reading  once  more  that  sad  history,  it  will 
perhaps  be  found  easier  to  understand  how,  notwithstanding 
her  errors,  Marie  Antoinette  has  left  a  name  to  which,  through 
all  the  changes  of  political  creeds,  pity  and  admiration  will 
ever  cling. 

The  Temple,  to  which  the  royal  family  were  transferred 
after  the  10th  of  August,  was  an  old,  gloomy  building,  erected 
and  inhabited  by  the  Knights-Templar  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
It  stood  in  a  walled  enclosure,  of  which  the  gates  were  shut 
every  night.  Debtors  found  a  safe  refuge  in  this  place,  which 
their  creditors  had  no  power  to  invade ;  but  their  presence, 
and  the  narrow  streets  and  low  dwellings  in  which  they  lived, 
rendered  this  little  neighbourhood  very  mean  and  unhealthy. 
"  The  tower,"  observes  Clery,  in  his  narrative,  "  is  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  and  consists  of  four  stories ;  to 
this  place  it  was  that  Louis  and  his  unfortunate  family  were 
removed.  The  Bastile  presented  nothing  of  equal  horror  : 
around  the  foot  of  the  tower  was  dug  a  wide  deep  ditch,  and 
the  part  of  the  garden  reserved  for  the  walk  of  the  august 
prisoners  was  enclosed  by  an  immensely  high  wall  ;  the  doors, 


158  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

which  were  made  of  iron,  were  so  low  and  so  narrow,  that  it 
was  necessary  to  bend  double  and  move  sideways  to  pass  the 
threshold  ;  scarcely  any  light  was  suffered  to  enter  through  the 
windows,  from  the  slanting  screens  which  were  placed  over  them, 
and  the  thick  iron  bars  with  which  they  were  secured." 

Louis  XVI.  accepted  this  sudden  change  of  fortune  with 
his  usual  resignation  ;  his  pious  sister,  as  a  trial  sent  by 
Heaven ;  Marie  Antoinette,  with  subdued  and  silent  indig- 
nation. The  first  few  days  of  their  captivity  were  not,  how- 
ever, the  most  painful  the  royal  prisoners  had  to  pass.  Hope 
had  not  deserted  them  yet :  the  success  of  the  foreign  armies 
would  have  delivered  them.  In  that  success  they  believed, 
not  without  some  show  of  reason  ;  for  the  untaught  bravery 
of  French  plebeians  had  not  yet  been  tested  on  the  field  of 
battle.  The  first  deep  grief  of  Marie  Antoinette  was  her 
separation  from  the  Princess  of  Lamballe  ;  who  was  torn  from 
her  arms  at  dead  of  night,  and  transferred  to  La  Force,  in 
order  to  be  murdered  a  few  days  later  by  the  Septembriseurs. 
The  proclamation  of  the  republic  on  the  21st  of  September 
shewed  the  king  and  his  family  that,  from  France  at  least, 
they  had  no  more  to  hope  :  their  part  was  over  there  for  ever. 
The  Princess  of  Lamballe,  and  the  few  devoted  attendants 
who  had  followed  the  royal  family  to  the  Temple,  were  re- 
placed by  a  rude  man  named  Tison  and  his  wife.  This  woman, 
whose  mind  was  in  an  unsettled  state,  treated  the  prisoners 
with  alternate  harshness  and  pity :  she  sometimes  professed 
herself  devoted  to  the  queen,  and  offered  to  serve  her  ;  until, 
alarmed  for  her  own  safety,  she  suddenly  betrayed  and 
accused  her.  Simon,  a  shoemaker,  and  Roucher,  a  saddler, 
shared  the  office  of  gaoler,  and  took  a  cruel  and  cowardly 
pleasure  in  tormenting  their  captives.  They  menaced  and 
insulted  the  king,  addressed  the  princesses  with  familiarity 
and  arrogance,  compelled  them  to  listen  to  their  disgusting 
and  threatening  language,  and  repeatedly  tortured  them  by 
throwing  out  intimations  that  Louis  XVI.  should  ere  long  be 
separated  from  them,  in  order  that  they  might  behold  their 
tears,  and  receive  their  entreaties. 


THE  KOYAL  PKISONEKS.  159 

These  menaces  were  once  carried  into  execution.  The 
king  was  abruptly  separated  from  his  family ;  but  the  despair 
of  the  queen  was  so  overwhelming  and  so  deep,  her  threats  of 
allowing  herself  to  die  of  hunger,  if  this  barbarous  separation 
were  persisted  in,  so  vehement,  as  to  soften  even  Simon,  and 
make  him  shed  tears.  Notwithstanding  the  order  of  the 
Commune  to  the  contrary,  he  assumed  the  responsibility  of 
allowing  Louis  XVI.  to  take  his  meals  with  his  family  :  this 
favour  was,  fortunately,  not  revoked.  Another  indulgence, 
almost  as  great,  was  that  the  faithful  Clery  was  allowed  to 
remain  with  the  king  :  he  proved  both  a  servant  and  a  friend. 
The  life  of  the  royal  family  had  all  the  monotony  without  the 
seclusion  of  captivity.  Watched  on  every  side,  they  could 
scarcely  hold  any  real  communication  with  one  another.  The 
king  rose  early,  and  prayed  and  read  until  nine,  at  which 
time  he  met  his  family  at  breakfast.  When  this  meal  was 
over,  Clery  combed  out  the  hair  of  the  princesses,  whilst 
Louis  instructed  his  son,  chiefly  in  geography.  At  twelve,  the 
whole  family  went  down  to  the  dreary  garden  which  lay  at 
the  foot  of  their  prison.  They  were  followed,  even  there,  by 
insults  ;  which  changed  these  hours  of  freedom  into  hours  of 
punishment.  The  distant  windows  which  overlooked  the 
temple  were,  however,  often  thronged  with  sympathising 
friends,  whose  looks  and  gestures  of  pity  and  love  cheered  the 
royal  captives.  At  two,  they  went  up  to  dinner ;  this  meal 
was  embittered  by  the  presence  of  their  gaolers,  who  checked 
everything  like  freedom  and  confidence.  Notwithstanding  the 
severity  with  which  they  were  watched,  the  prisoners,  how- 
ever, found  means  to  hold  some  intercourse  with  their  friends, 
and  even  to  learn  the  news.  Paid  news-venders  passed  under 
the  windows  of  the  Temple,  and,  whilst  appearing  to  hawk 
their  papers,  contrived  to  let  the  king  know  their  contents. 
The  princesses  worked  and  read  during  the  afternoon.  "  In 
the  evening,"  relates  Clery,  "  the  family  sat  round  a  table, 
whilst  the  queen  read  to  them  from  books  of  history,  or  other 
instructive  works.  Often,  and  unexpectedly,  she  met  with 
narratives  of  events  that  bore  too  great  a  resemblance  to  their 


160  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

fate.  These  would  give  birth  to  the  most  melancholy  reflec- 
tions :  Madame  Elizabeth  was  then  obliged  to  take  up  the 
book.  The  reading  generally  continued  until  eight,  when  I 
gave  the  dauphin  his  supper :  the  queen  always  heard  him  say 
his  prayers." 

The  gaolers  manifested  more  severity  towards  their  pri- 
soners as  the  days  of  their  captivity  increased.  The  prin- 
cesses were  compelled  to  mend  their  own  clothes,  those  of 
the  king  and  of  the  children,  to  sweep  the  floors  of  their 
prison,  and  perform  many  menial  offices.  But  it  was  chiefly 
the  ceaseless  insults  and  annoyances  to  which  they  were  sub- 
jected that  embittered  their  lot.  These  outrages  were,  how- 
ever, seldom  directed  to  the  queen.  Her  imposing  dignity 
awed  even  Roucher  and  Simon,  if  not  into  respect,  at  least 
into  silence.  Their  gross  provocations  were  addressed  to  the 
king  and  his  gentle  sister,  who  endured  everything  with  heroic 
patience.  Calmly  resigned  to  her  fate,  Madame  Elizabeth 
might  often  be  seen  kneeling  in  prayer  at  the  foot  of  her  bed. 
She  would  remain  there  for  hours  in  the  same  attitude, 
serene  and  beautiful,  like  a  being  of  another  and  a  better 
world. 

This  pious  resignation  formed  no  part  of  the  character  of 
Marie  Antoinette  :  in  her  it  would  have  been  unnatural. 
She  could  not  and  would  not  forget  that  she  had  been  a 
queen  ;  that  she  was  now  a  captive  ;  that  the  fate  of  Charles 
I.  awaited  her  husband  :  what  fait  awaited  her,  her  children 
and  the  devoted  sister  who  shared  their  prison,  she  knew 
not.  In  this  agony  she  was  sustained  by  pride  ;  for  the  love 
she  bore  to  those  around  her  could  only  bow  her  down  with 
despair  and  grief :  it  was  for  them  that  she  suffered,  and  over 
their  destiny  that  she  wept  and  brooded  during  the  live- 
long nights  of  her  captivity :  nights  seldom  refreshed  by 
sleep.  Love  had  no  power  to  soothe  the  sorrows  it  had 
caused,  but  pride  could  enable  her  to  bear  them,  if  not  with 
passive  patience,  at  least  with  dignity.  Such  pride  was  not 
all  to  be  condemned ;  for  what  was  it  but  the  last  protest  of 
a  heroic  soul  against  fate  and  man's  injustice'? 


PLANS  OF  ESCAPE  FEUSTKATED.  161 

The  fascination  wlrick  Marie  Antoinette  had  so  long  exer- 
cised on  all  those  "who  approached  her,  did  not  vanish  with 
rank  and  power.  Her  fading  loveliness,  faded  by  grief  more 
than  by  years,  had  an  eloquence  beyond  the  freshness  of 
youthful  beauty.  An  injured  queen,  and  a  suffering  wife  and 
mother,  commanded  both  respect  and  sympathy.  She  in- 
spired still  deeper  feelings  in  two  men  named  Toulan  and 
Lepitre.  They  devoted  themselves  to  her  cause,  planned 
escapes  for  the  royal  family,  favoured  their  correspondences 
with  their  friends,  and  did  all  that  the  most  passionate 
enthusiasm  could  inspire.  This  lasted  for  a  considerable 
length  of  time,  but  the  wife  of  Tison  at  length  betrayed  them, 
and  Toulan  was  taken  and  executed.  Oppressed  with 
remorse,  the  wretched  woman  fell  dangerously  ill.  The  queen 
and  Madame  Elizabeth,  touched  at  the  excess  of  her  grief, 
not  only  forgave  her,  but  attended  her  during  her  illness. 
The  hopes  which  the  devotedness  of  Toulan — and  his  was  not 
a  solitary  instance — had  inspired  for  a  moment,  vanished  in 
the  heart  of  Marie  Antoinette,  as  the  trial  of  her  husband 
came  on.  One  thought  alone  now  absorbed,  haunted  her 
mind.  The  serene  resignation  of  the  king,  which  compelled 
her  to  subdue  the  expression  of  her  grief,  added  to  its  bitter- 
ness. Of  a  passionate  and  vehement  nature,  she  was  not 
made  for  an  ever-silent  agony.  She  sought  not,  like  her 
husband,  to  check  her  sorrow  :  she  only  had  power  over  its 
external  tokens,  and  this  inward  and  ceaseless  struggle  added 
to  the  fever  which  consumed  her  existence. 

As  long  as  the  trial  lasted,  the  royal  family  were  forbidden 
to  see  the  king ;  they  would  have  learned  none  of  the  details 
of  the  trial  itself  but  for  the  zeal  and  ingenious  stratagems  of 
Clery  :  through  his  means  they  were  even  able  to  correspond 
with  Louis  XVI.  With  more  grief  than  surprise  they  learned 
that  he  was  condemned ;  and  now  their  last  despairing 
thought  was,  "  should  they  see  him  once  more  1 "  They  were 
not  refused  this  final  consolation.  At  half-past  eight  on  the 
evening  of  the  20th  January  1793,  the  king  once  more  beheld 
his  family.  As  the  door  of  his  apartment  opened,  the  queen 
VOL.  II.  L 


162  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

and  her  son  entered  first,  Madame  Elizabeth  and  the  young 
princess  followed.  They  all  four  alternately  clasped  him  in 
their  arms  with  convulsive  sobs  and  bursts  of  grief,  which 
lasted  for  more  than  half  an  hour.  The  king  at  length  sat 
down  ;  the  queen  placed  herself  on  his  left,  Madame  Eliza- 
beth on  his  right,  and  his  children  before  him  and  between 
his  knees.  Although  the  room  in  which  they  sat  had  a  glass 
door,  through  which  commissaries  could  behold  all  that 
passed,  they  could  not  hear  what  the  king  said.  He  spoke 
purposely  in  a  low  tone,  but  the  horrified  gestures  of  Marie 
Antoinette  shewed  that  the  whole  of  the  truth  had  not  until 
then  been  revealed  to  her.  The  bearing  of  Louis  XVI.  was 
admirably  calm,  tender,  and  subdued,  during  the  whole  of  this 
trying  scene.  An  hour  and  three  quarters  had  thus  elapsed, 
when  the  king  rose  to  part  from  his  family.  He  slowly 
advanced  with  them  towards  the  door.  The  queen  and  the 
dauphin  were  on  his  right.  Madame  Elizabeth  leaned  on  her 
brother's  left  shoulder,  Madame  Koyale  held  her  father, 
clasped  around  the  waist;  they  spoke  not,  but  the  whole 
room  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  their  tears  and  lamenta- 
tions. "  I  assure  you,"  said  Louis,  "  that  I  will  see  you 
again  at  eight  to-morrow  morning."  "  You  promise  it  1 " 
they  all  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  I  promise,"  he  replied.  "  Why 
not  at  seven  ? "  asked  the  queen.  "  Let  it  be  at  seven,  then," 
said  her  husband;  "farewell!"  he  then  added,  in  a  tone  so 
solemn  and  so  deep,  that  his  daughter,  as  if  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  truth,  fainted  away  at  his  feet.  With  one  more 
embrace,  the  king  tore  himself  from  them. 

The  agony  of  that  night  was  softened  to  Marie  Antoinette 
by  the  thought  that  she  should  see  her  husband  again  on  the 
morrow  ;  but  seven  and  eight  o'clock  struck,  and  she  received 
no  summons  to  meet  the  king  :  it  was  Louis  himself  that  had 
declined  the  interview,  lest  it  should  prove  too  trying  for  those 
he  loved.  The  whole  of  that  dreadful  day  was  spent  by 
Marie  Antoinette  in  long  fainting  fits,  only  interrupted  by 
bursts  of  agonising  grief.  Time,  which  subdued  the  expres- 
sion of  her  sorrow,  could  not  change  its  nature.     A  sort  of 


AKEEST  OF  THE  QUEEN.  163 

despairing  resignation  took  possession  of  her  soul :  she  had 
ceased  to  hope,  and  she  now  felt  like  one  for  whom  the 
struggle  of  life  was  henceforth  over.  Although  the  gaolers 
informed  her  that  she  could  resume  the  walks  in  the  garden, 
which  had  for  some  time  been  interdicted,  she  refused  to  do 
so.  The  mere  thought  of  passing  before  the  door  of  the  king's 
apartment  filled  her  with  horror.  Lest,  however,  the  health 
of  her  children  should  suffer  from  this  confinement,  she  con- 
sented, after  several  weeks'  seclusion,  to  walk  with  them  on 
the  platform  of  the  tower.  It  was  immediately  surrounded 
with  high  boards,  in  order  that  no  friendly  look  might  reach 
the  queen  even  there. 

The  comparative  leniency  with  which  the  royal  family  had 
been  treated  after  the  death  of  the  king,  ceased  abruptly  on 
the  fall  of  the  Girondists.  It  was  then  decided  that  the  queen 
should  be  tried,  and  that  the  dauphin  should  previously  be 
taken  from  her.  The  officers  of  the  Convention  who  came  to 
execute  this  barbarous  order  met  with  unexpected  resistance. 
Casting  away  every  feeling  of  queenly  dignity  or  silent  pride, 
the  mother  placed  herself  before  the  bed  of  her  son,  and 
vehemently  declared  that,  though  they  might  kill  her,  they 
should  not  touch  her  child.  For  two  hours  she  defended  him 
against  all  their  efforts.  They  at  length  threatened  to  kill  him 
in  her  arms  if  she  resisted  any  longer.  Upon  this  she  em- 
braced him,  dressed  him,  and  weepingly  delivered  him  up. 
The  unhappy  and  innocent  child  was  handed  over  to  the  shoe- 
maker, Simon  :  his  mother  never  saw  him  again.  Through  the 
slits  of  the  boards  which  surrounded  the  platform  of  her 
tower,  she  sometimes,  after  hours  of  watching,  caught  distant 
glimpses  of  him  on  the  platform  of  the  tower  where  he  was 
confined,  but  that  was  all. 

Although  she  did  not  know  every  detail  of  the  tortures 
Simon  inflicted  on  the  young  prince,  the  queen  knew  enough 
to  render  her  life  inexpressibly  bitter.  But  her  sufferings 
were  drawing  to  a  close.  At  two  in  the  morning  on  the  2d 
of  August,  Marie  Antoinette  was  abruptly  wakened  by  the 
entrance  into  her  apartment  of  two  municipal  officers,  who 


164  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

read  her  the  decree  of  the  Convention,  authorising  them  to 
convey  her  to  the  Conciergerie,  where  she  was  to  await  her 
trial.  She  heard  them  without  either  sorrow  or  surprise  '> 
Madame  Elizabeth  and  the  young  princess  vainly  entreated  to 
be  allowed  to  accompany  the  queen  :  their  prayers  and  tears 
remained  unheeded.  Marie  Antoinette  was  compelled  to  rise 
and  dress  before  these  men  :  they  even  searched  her,  taking 
away  all  the  little  jewels  and  trifling  articles  still  in  her  pos- 
session. They  only  left  her  a  pocket-handkerchief  and  a  vinai- 
grette, in  case  she  should  faint  whilst  in  their  custody.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  she  persuaded  them  to  let  her  take  a  change 
of  linen.  When  her  preparations  were  over,  she  turned  towards 
her  sister  and  her  child,  embraced  them  tenderly,  and  bade 
them  farewell  She  recommended  her  daughter  to  the  care  of 
Madame  Elizabeth,  and  requested  Madame  Koyale  to  obey  her 
aunt  as  if  she  were  her  mother.  Not  daring  to  trust  herself 
with  another  look  she  then  hastened  down  stairs ;  so  rapidly 
that  she  forgot  to  stoop  in  passing  beneath  the  low  door,  and 
struck  her  head  with  some  force  against  it.  One  of  the 
municipal  officers  asked  if  she  had  hurt  herself.  "  Oh,  no  ! " 
she  mournfully  replied,  "  nothing  can  hurt  me  now." 

She  entered  the  hackney-coach  which  waited  for  her  in  the 
yard,  carrying  under  her  arm  the  little  bundle  of  things  she 
had  been  allowed  to  take.  The  cell  of  the  Conciergerie  into 
which  the  queen  was  thrown  on  her  arrival  was  the  worst  in 
the  prison.  General  Custine,  who  preceded  her  to  the  scaffold, 
had  been  removed  from  it  in  order  that  it  might  be  given  to 
her  :  it  was  several  steps  lower  than  the  yard,  from  which  it 
received  air  and  light,  through  a  narrow  grated  window ;  a 
miserable  bed,  a  deal  table,  a  wooden  box,  and  two  straw- 
bottomed  chairs,  were  all  the  furniture  it  contained.  The  damp 
stone  walls,  and  the  close  atmosphere  of  this  gloomy  abode, 
made  it  resemble  a  cellar  more  than  a  place  destined  to  receive 
any  human  being.  Yet  this  was  to  be  the  last  dwelling  of  a 
woman  and  a  queen  !  This  room  was  entered  through  an 
antechamber,  in  which  two  gendarmes  with  naked  swords 
were  placed  ;  their  orders  were  to  keep  the  door  which  led 


SYMPATHY  WITH  THE  FALLEN  QUEEN.       165 

from  one  room  into  tho  other  always  open,  and  not  to  lose 
sight  of  Marie  Antoinette  even  in  her  sleep.  The  gaolers  of 
the  Conciergerie,  Eichard  and  his  wife, — notwithstanding  the 
strictness  of  their  orders, — treated  the  illustrious  captive  with 
much  kindness.  Instead  of  the  coarse  prison  fare,  Madame 
Eichard  gave  the  queen  wholesome  and  delicate  food  prepared 
by  herself ;  she  introduced  a  little  comfort  into  her  cell,  and, 
diverting  the  attention  of  the  gendarmes  by  ingenious  strata- 
gems, secretly  gave  her  news  of  Madame  Elizabeth  and  her 
children.  This  worthy  woman  carried  her  devotedness  so  far 
as  to  seek  to  favour  the  queen's  escape.  She  introduced,  for 
this  purpose,  Michonis  and  the  Chevalier  de  Eougeville  into 
her  prison.  The  chevalier  gave  Marie  Antoinette  a  flower 
which  contained  a  note  offering  her  men  and  money ;  she  was 
unfortunately  surprised  in  the  act  of  reading  it.  The  two  de- 
voted men  and  Eichard  and  his  wife  were  immediately  arrested 
and  thrown  into  prison  :  with  them  vanished  the  queen's  last 
hope  of  safety. 

The  dangerous  office  of  softening  the  captivity  of  the  queen 
was,  nevertheless,  eagerly  sought  by  M.  and  Madame  Bault, 
formerly  gaolers  of  La  Force.  They  rivalled  the  devotedness 
of  Eichard,  whom  they  succeeded  in  the  post  of  gaolers  of  the 
Conciergerie  :  although  her  orders  were  to  give  her  prisoner 
only  bread  and  water,  Madame  Bault,  following  the  example  of 
her  predecessor,  carefully  prepared  her  food.  Marie  Antoinette 
never  drank  wine,  but  the  Seine  water  did  not  agree  with  her ; 
Madame  Bault,  accordingly,  procured  her  the  pure  water  of  Arcu- 
euil,  which  had  been  her  favourite  beverage  in  Trianon.  Many 
persons  from  without,  who  were  allowed  to  visit  their  impris- 
oned relatives,  took  this  opportunity  of  forwarding  little  deli- 
cacies to  the  fallen  queen  ;  the  women  of  the  Halle,  who  had 
formerly  been  the  purveyors  of  the  royal  family,  privately 
sent  her  presents  of  their  fruits  and  flowers.  It  was  not 
without  much  peril  to  herself  that  Madame  Bault  procured 
her  prisoner  these  indulgences  :  her  husband  was  once  severely 
reprimanded  for  having  hung  the  damp  walls  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette's dungeon  with  an  old  piece  of  tapestry ;  his  daughter 


166  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

was,  however,  allowed  to  help  the  prisoner  to  make  her  bed, 
and  clear  up  her  room ;  she  also  combed  the  captive's  hair 
every  morning,  and  mended  the  scanty  supply  of  linen,  and 
the  two  old  gowns,  to  which  the  wardrobe  of  the  queen  of 
France  was  now  reduced. 

The  two  months  which  elapsed  from  the  2d  of  August  to 
the  14th  of  October,  when  she  appeared  before  the  Kevolu- 
tionary  Tribunal,  were  spent  by  Marie  Antoinette  in  passive 
endurance.  Gifted  with  a  mind  of  great  energy,  with  more 
than  common  pride,  and  with  the  keenest  susceptibilities  to 
wrong  and  insult,  how  intense  must  have  been  the  past  suffer- 
ings which  could  reduce  her  passionate  and  impulsive  nature 
to  a  state  of  comparative  apathy.  The  gendarmes  who  watched 
her  often  saw  her  weeping,  as  she  knelt  in  prayer  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  ;  oftener  still  she  sat  listlessly  near  the  high  window, 
from  which  a  faint  ray  of  light  came  down  on  her  pale  face  and 
emaciated  figure  :  the  mourning  she  wore  made  her  look  more 
wan  and  desolate  still.  But,  though  broken-hearted,  the 
queen  was  not  subdued  ;  and  this  it  is  that  justifies  her  pride 
and  ennobles  it  into  something  sublime :  for  hers  was  not 
the  pride  to  which  rank,  power,  or  circumstance  gave  birth, 
and  which  falls  with  them.  Marie  Antoinette  valued  these 
things  whilst  they  were  hers,  but  they  formed  no  part  of  her 
nature  :  they  left  her,  but  she  was  herself  still :  she  was  the 
queen  even  in  her  dungeon ;  more  truly  royal  within  those 
gloomy  walls  than  when  surrounded  by  the  splendours  of  Ver- 
sailles. 

On  the  14th  of  October,  Marie  Antoinette  was  summoned  be- 
fore the  tribunal,  held  in  the  adjoining  Palais  de  Justice.  She 
was  meanly  clad,  but  with  evident  attention  to  neatness  and 
decency ;  her  bearing  was  calm  and  dignified  :  she  heard  with 
indifference  the  long  act  of  accusation  read  by  Fouquier  Tin- 
ville,  who  asserted  that  the  crimes  attributed  to  Messalina, 
Brunehault,  Fredegonde,  and  Catherine  of  Medici,  were  far  sur- 
passed by  those  committed  by  the  widow  Capet.  She  was  charged 
with  having  dilapidated  the  finances,  with  plotting  against  the 
nation,  with  having  caused  a  famine,  and  various  other  political 
offences.     Her  replies  were  laconic  and  composed.     Submit- 


THE  QUEEN  TRIED  AND  CONDEMNED.  167 

ting  to  events  she  could  not  control,  she  entered  into  no  use- 
less and  indignant  protest  against  the  past ;  she  also  avoided 
compromising  her  own  life  and  the  safety  of  her  friends  by 
any  imprudent  defiance  :  to  bear  patiently  had  become  her 
lot.     One  of  her  motives  for  taking  this  line  of  conduct  was 
that  such  had  been  the  course  adopted  by  Louis  XVI.     Jeal- 
ous of  his  honour,  she  did  not  wish  to  be  contrasted  with  him  to 
his  disadvantage.      The  most  infamous  accusation  against  her 
was  that  of  H6bert ;  who  asserted  that  she  had  depraved  her 
own  child,  the  dauphin.     Marie  Antoinette  disdained  to  make 
any  answer.     One  of  the  jury  having  pressed  her  to  reply, 
she  turned  towards  the  crowd,  her  countenance  lit  up  by  scorn 
and  indignant  majesty,  merely  saying,  "I  appeal  to  all  the 
mothers  present."     The  mothers  who  heard  her  then  were  the 
furious  Tricotteuses,  who  daily  accompanied  victims    to  the 
scaffold  ;  but  even  they  had  not  so  far  given  up  all  the  feelings 
of  womanhood  as  to  remain  insensible  to  such  an  appeal,  and  a 
murmur  of  horror  and  indignation  against  Hebert  ran  through- 
out the  court.     When  all  the  accusations  against  her  had  been" 
heard,  Marie  Antoinette  was  asked  if  she  had  anything  to  say  : 
she  answered,  "  I  was  a  queen,  and  you  took  away  my  crown  ; 
a  wife,  and  you  killed  my  husband ;  a  mother,  and  you  de- 
prived me  of  my  children ;  my  blood  alone  remains  :  take  it, 
but  do  not  make  me  suffer  long."     Chauveau  de  la  Garde  and  — 
Tronson  du  Coudray,  her  defenders,  were  then  heard;    but 
their  noble  and  courageous  efforts  remained  unavailing. 

At  four  o'clock,  on  the  morning  of  the  16th,  she  was  con- 
demned to  die.  She  heard  her  sentence  with  that  admirable 
dignity  and  self-possession  which  had  never  deserted  her  since 
the  beginning  of  her  trial  on  the  14th;  although,  with  a 
barbarity  worthy  of  them,  her  judges  had  refused  to  let  her 
retire,  even  for  one  moment's  rest,  and  scarcely  allowed  her  any 
food,  in  the  hope  of  subduing  her  courage  with  her  physical 
strength.  Once,  feeling  very  thirsty,  she  asked  for  some 
water  ;  no  one  dared  to  bring  her  any,  until  she  repeated  her 
request,  when  an  officer  of  the  gendarmes,  unable  to  resist  the 
impulse,  brought  her  a  glass:  he  lost  his  post  for  this  simple 
act  of  humanity. 


16S  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

When  the  President  of  the  Tribunal  asked  her  if  she  had 
any  objection  to  make  to  her  sentence,  the  queen  rose,  dis- 
daining to  reply.  The  fierce  applause  which  followed  her  out  of 
the  court  could  not  disturb  her  proud  composure.  She  retired 
to  the  Conciergerie,  and,  having  obtained  writing  materials, 
addressed  to  Madame  Elizabeth  a  last  letter — which  never 
reached  her.  In  this  letter  she  recommended  her  orphan 
children  to  her  sisters  care,  fervently  blessing  them  and  her  ; 
protesting  that  she  died  in  the  faith  of  her  fathers,  and  freely 
forgiving  her  enemies.  She  then  threw  herself  on  her  bed, 
and  slept  for  two  hours.  A  constitutional  priest  was  sent  to 
her,  but  she  declined  his  ministry. 

"  Your  death,"  he  began,  "  is  going  to  expiate  " — 

"  Faults,  not  crimes,"  she  interrupted. 

Two  other  constitutional  priests  who  attended  her  proved 
equally  unsuccessful.  She  refused  to  hear  them,  and  prayed 
alone.  After  resting  sufficiently,  the  queen  rose,  cut  her  hair, 
and  dressed  herself  carefully.  At  eleven  the  executioner  came? 
bound  her  hands,  and  led  her  to  the  cart.  She  submitted 
silently,  heedless  of  all  that  passed  around  her,  and  of  the 
representations  of  the  priest  at  her  side. 

It  is  said,  and  on  good  authority,* — though  the  fact  has 
not,  we  believe,  been  alluded  to  by  any  historian — that  the 
men  who  had  not  thought  the  accusations  of  Hebert  too 
infamous  for  the  queen,  conceived  the  project  of  degrading  her 
death,  by  causing  her  to  be  judged  and  to  perish  between  two 
courtesans  confined  in  the  same  prison  with  her.  They 
boasted  of  their  plan  until  it  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
women  concerned  in  it ;  who,  degraded  as  they  were,  felt  and 
resented  the  intended  infamy :  they  both  declared,  with  the 
greatest  energy,  that  if  the  project  were  carried  into  effect, 
they  would,  even  on  the  scaffold  and  in  the  face  of  the  people, 
fall  down  at  the  feet  of  the  queen,  and  publicly  implore  her 
forgiveness  for  being  compelled  to  die  with  her.  Alarmed  at 
the  effect  such  a  scene  might  produce,  the  projectors  of  this 
infamous  plan  abandoned  it  reluctantly. 

*  Lemontey :  CEuvres,  vol.  i. ,  p.  280. 


INSULTS  OFFERED  TO  THE  QUEEN.  169 

It  was  little  more  than  eleven  when  the  cart  which  con 
tained  the  queen  left  the  Oonciergerie,  yet  she  did  not  reach 
the  Place  de  la  Revolution  until  half-past  twelve.  During  all 
that  time  she  was  subjected  to  the  continued  hootings  and 
insults  of  the  populace.  Her  firmness  never  forsook  her  ;  but 
the  crimson  flushes  and  the  deadly  paleness  which  rapidly  suc- 
ceeded each  other  on  her  cheeks,  revealed  the  intense  agony 
she  endured.  The  cart  was  compelled  to  stop  opposite  the 
church  of  St  Roch,  in  order  that  the  dense  crowd  assembled 
on  the  steps  might  obtain  a  better  view  of  their  victim.  Over- 
come by  her  feelings,  the  queen  bowed  down  her  head  for  a 
moment.  It  was  observed  that,  as  she  passed  along  the  Rue 
St  Honore,  she  looked  at  the  republican  inscriptions  and 
tricolor  flags  of  the  houses  with  evident  curiosity  :  another 
interpretation  placed  on  this  incident,  is,  that  the  queen  was 
watching  for  a  signal,  which  was  to  reveal  to  her  the  house 
where  a  non-juring  priest  awaited  her  passage,  in  order  to  give 
her  absolution. 

The  countenance  of  Marie  Antoinette  exhibited  the  greatest 
emotion  when,  on  entering  the  Place  de  la  Revolution,  she 
beheld  the  palace  and  gardens  of  the  Tuileries :  but  she  soon 
resumed  her  calmness,  and,  aided  by  the  priest  and  the  execu- 
tioner, quickly  ascended  the  scaffold.  In  doing  so,  she  trod 
by  chance  on  the  foot  of  Sanson ;  he  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  pain.  "  Forgive  me,"  she  gently  said.  Her  bearing  in 
that  solemn  moment  was  an  impressive  union  of  calmness  and 
dignity,  as  all  the  eye-witnesses  of  this  scene — one  of  whom 
we  know  personally — have  testified.  She  was  attired  in  a 
narrow  dress  of  white  pique;  a  close  white  cap  could  not 
entirely  conceal  her  hair,  long  since  blanched  by  grief. 
Scarcely  any  traces  now  remained  of  her  once  dazzling  loveli- 
ness ;  but  her  features,  though  thin  and  pale,  were  still 
majestic;  a  deep  red  circle  surrounded  her  eyes,  and  betrayed 
the  ceaseless  weeping  of  her  latter  years.  Thus  changed,  from 
the  gay,  beautiful  vision  they  had  enthusiastically  welcomed 
twenty-three  years  before,  the  widowed  queen  of  France  now 
stood  on  a  scaffold  before  her  people.     She  knelt  and  prayed  for 


170  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

a  few  seconds  in  a  low  tone,  then  rose  and  calmly  delivered  her- 
self over  to  the  executioner.  When  her  head  had  fallen  beneath 
the  knife  of  the  guillotine,  he  held  it  up,  and  walked  round 
the  scaffold  shewing  it  to  the  people,  and  shouting  in  a  loud 
tone,  "Vive  la  Republique!"  The  crowd  caught  up  the  cry, 
which  filled  the  whole  place. 

Thus  perished,  in  her  thirty-seventh  year,  the  widow  of  the 
greatest  king  in  Europe.  The  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa, 
though  less  fortunate,  was  not  less  heroic  than  her  mother. 
Her  whole  history,  and  the  severest  judgment  against  her, 
may  be  summed  up  in  her  own  words — "  Faults,  not  crimes." 
Her  errors  were  those  of  her  judgment,  never  of  her  heart. 
Had  she  survived  the  revolution,  she  would,  however,  have 
been  judged  with  more  severity.  History  would  have  asked 
her  to  account  for  her  husband's  fall  and  death,  and  she  has 
only  escaped  this  reproach  by  sharing  his  destiny.  There  are 
few  tasks  more  difficult  than  that  of  speaking  historically  ol 
Marie  Antoinette.  So  much  of  all  that  the  human  heart 
pities  and  reveres  is  blended  with  her  name,  that  those  shades 
iu  her  character  which,  from  her  position,  produced  conse- 
quences so  fatal  are  well-nigh  forgotten.  "We  cannot  speak  of 
the  light  and  frivolous  queen,  without  thinking  of  the  pale 
prisoner  of  the  Temple  and  the  Conciergerie :  and  it  seems 
strange  harshness  to  dwell  on  indiscretions  of  temper  and 
conduct  destined  to  be  expiated  by  years  of  weeping  anguish 
and  death  on  a  scaffold. 

Whatever  were  the  errors  of  Marie  Antoinette,  her  enemies, 
by  immolating  her,  have  done  much  to  efface  them.  Their 
stern  policy  might  deem  the  death  of  the  king  necessary,  but, 
from  the  moment  she  became  a  widow,  the  queen  was  a  con- 
quered foe,  whom  it  was  impolitic  and  base  to  sacrifice. 
Animated  by  an  unworthy  spirit  of  vengeance,  they  could  not 
rest  until  they  had  obtained  her  life.  The  revolution  felt 
truly  that  Marie  Antoinette  had  been  its  most  unrelenting 
opponent ;  and,  for  this,  it  doomed  her  to  perish :  so  inveterate 
had  been  the  struggle  between  them,  that  a  whole  nation  did 
not  disdain  to  avenge  itself  on  a  woman.     But  the  vengeance, 


CHARACTER  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  171 

thus  cowardly  taken,  recoiled   for    ever,   and   is  an  eternal 
reproach  to  those  who  had  not  the  magnanimity  to  forgive. 

Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  Marie  Antoinette  than 
her  attitude  during  her  last  hours.  When  they  parted,  her 
mother  had  said  to  her,  "  Think  of  me  in  the  time  of  sorrow 
or  danger."  That  time  had  come ;  and,  mindful  of  her  words, 
her  daughter  seemed  to  gather  to  her  aid  all  the  pride  of 
her  race.  She  wrapped  herself  in  a  silent  reserve ;  disdain- 
ing to  hold  converse  wTith  those  who  might  conquer,  but  could 
not  subdue  her.  At  the  tribunal  her  fingers  wandered  idly 
over  the  arm  of  her  chair,  as  if  she  were  touching  the  keys  of 
some  musical  instrument.  She  looked  abstracted  during  the 
whole  time  :  indifferent  when  her  sentence  was  read.  The 
constitutional  priests  could  draw  nothing  save  monosyllables 
from  her.  She  was  not  haughty,  defiant,  or  despairing :  her 
bearing  cannot  be  characterised  as  that  of  the  queen  or  the 
woman.  With  worldly  pomp  or  pride  she  had  long  done,  and 
her  mother's  feelings  slept  in  her  heart  far  beyond  human  ken. 
She  forgave  her  enemies;  but  more,  perhaps,  from  proud  disdain 
than  because  the  heavenly  peace  of  mercy  had  descended  into 
her  soul.  A  stern  resolve  to  accomplish  her  fate  unshrink- 
ingly, sustained  her  through  her  last  bitter  trial.  Perhaps 
the  old  thought :  "  History  awaits  us  ! "  haunted  her  even 
then.  She  made  not  one  effort  to  soften  the  crowd ;  she 
spoke  not  a  word  for  her  justification  :  she  perished  unyield- 
ing, and  proudly  silent  to  the  last. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MADAME  ROLAND  :    HER  CAPTIVITY,  TRIAL,  AND  DEATH. 

As  the  heroines  of  the  revolution  pass  before  us  in  succession, 
it  is  sad  to  perceive  how  the  great,  the  beautiful,  and  the 
gifted  seem  to  have  had  but  one  destiny — the  prison  and  the 
scaffold.  "Was  that,  then,  the  bourne  to  which  the  lofty- 
heroism  of  Marie  Antoinette,  the  sacrificial  furor  of  Charlotte 
Corday,  and  the  enthusiasm  and  genius  of  Madame  Roland 
alike  tended  1  Did  heroism,  beauty,  and  devotedness  deserve 
no  better  fate  ? 

But  this  similarity  of  destiny  implied  no  similarity  of  feel- 
ing or  character.  Even  Charlotte  Corday  differs  widely  from 
Madame  Roland,  herself  so  different  from  Marie  Antoinette. 
The  most  opposite  actions  led  to  the  same  result :  every  page 
in  the  history  of  those  evil  times  is  equally  stained  with  blood. 
We  left  Madame  Roland  as  she  entered  the  Abbaye,  a  captive  ; 
we  have  now  to  follow  her  to  the  scaffold. 

Less  affected  by  her  arrest  than  by  the  fate  of  the  party 
with  whom  she  fell,  Madame  Roland  was  absorbed  by  the 
cries  and  tumult  of  the  streets,  which  reached  even  her  remote 
cell.  She  listened  with  a  beating  heart  to  every  sound,  and 
waited  with  feverish  anxiety  for  the  evening's  news.  It  came, 
but  brought  no  decisive  tidings ;  overpowered  with  fatigue, 
she  sank  at  length  into  a  heavy  slumber.  The  next  morning 
she  read  in  the  journal  which  the  gaoler  brought  her  the 
decree  of  arrest  against  the  twenty-two  Girondists.  The 
paper  fell  from  her  hands  :  "  My  country  is  lost !"  she  pas- 
sionately exclaimed ;  and  she  bade  a  last  and  bitter  farewell 


HER  RELEASE  AND  RE- APPREHENSION.      173 

to  those  hopes  of  happiness  and  sublime  illusions  -which  her 
soul  had  cherished  so  long. 

But  if  she  abandoned  enthusiastic  dreams,  her  faith  in  truth 
and  virtue  remained  unshaken.  No  disaster  could  disturb  the 
serenity  of  her  soul — no  fear  subdue  its  energy.  Her  mode 
of  life  in  her  prison  was  regulated  and  composed :  political 
agitation  had  vanished  ;  she  seemed  to  have  gone  back  to  the 
pure  and  happy  clays  of  her  youth,  securely  spent  beneath  her 
father's  humble  roof.  She  made  every  necessary  effort  to 
procure  her  freedom  :  she  wrote  to  the  Assembly,  protesting 
against  her  illegal  arrest ;  she  sent  remonstrances  to  the  sec- 
tions ;  but  when  these  efforts  remained  unavailing,  she  betrayed 
neither  despondency  nor  surprise.  Her  first  care  was  to  pro- 
cure a  few  books  :  Thomson,  Plutarch,  and  Tacitus  soothed 
and  fortified  her  soul.  When  she  felt  weaned  with  thought 
and  solitude,  she  relaxed  her  mind  by  drawing.  Flowers, 
with  which  the  few  friends  who  still  visited  her  in  her  adver- 
sity provided  her,  filled  her  gloomy  cell  with  their  fragrance 
and  beauty,  and  appeased  her  captive's  longing  for  that  love- 
liness of  nature  which  was  never  more  to  bless  her  yearning 
heart. 

After  a  captivity  of  twenty-four  days,  Madame  Roland  was 
unexpectedly  released.  The  order  for  her  liberation  stated 
that  there  was  nothing  against  her.  She  left  her  cell  in  the 
Abbaye — which  was  afterwards  tenanted  by  two  kindred  spirits, 
Brissot  and  Charlotte  Corday — aud  hastened  home  with  a 
heart  full  of  joy.  Scarcely  had  she  passed  the  threshold  of 
her  dwelling  Avhen  she  was  again  apprehended.  Her  release 
was  only  owing  to  the  persevering  hatred  of  her  enemies ;  her 
first  apprehension  being  grossly  illegal,  they  took  this  method 
of  securing  their  victim.  Madame  Roland,  without  being 
even  allowed  to  embrace  her  child,  was  immediately  conveyed 
to  Sainte-Pelagie,  the  prison  usually  awarded  to  women  of 
dissolute  life.  The  son  of  her  landlady  was  afterwards  sent 
to  the  guillotine  for  having  protested  against  her  apprehension. 
The  shock  she  thus  experienced  proved  at  first  too  much  for 
the  fortitude  of  Madame  Roland.     Her  soul  for  several  days 


174  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

remained  overwhelmed  with  grief ;  but  she  gradually  regained 
her  composure,  and  felt  almost  indignant  at  her  previous 
weakness.  She  now  freely  made  the  sacrifice  of  her  life,  which 
she  perceived  was  forfeited  to  the  hatred  of  her  foes ;  but  she 
resolved  to  use  nobly  whatever  of  it  was  still  left,  and  with  that 
independence  of  her  faculties  "  which  a  strong  soul  preserves 
even  in  chains,  and  which  disappoints  the  most  eager  foes."* 

The  sufferings  of  Madame  Roland  in  her  new  prison  were 
at  first  very  severe.  She  was  compelled  to  inhabit  a  narrow 
cell,  where  her  ears  were  constantly  assailed  by  the  infamous 
language  of  the  neighbouring  prostitutes.  The  compassion 
of  Madame  Bonchaud,  the  gaoler's  wife,  softened  her  captivity. 
Her  room  was  exchanged  for  another.  She  was  allowed  the 
enjoyment  of  comforts,  and  even  of  a  few  luxuries  :  a  jessa- 
mine hid  the  bars  of  her  window,  and  a  hired  piano  beguiled 
the  tediousness  of  her  prison  hours.  But  the  kindness  she 
experienced  did  not  blind  her  to  her  ultimate  fate  :  for  that 
fate  she  now  prepared,  by  beginning  her  "  Memoirs"  on  the 
9th  of  August  1793. 

The  enemies  of  Madame  Roland  had  long  assailed  her 
private  and  phobic  character  with  the  coarsest  and  most 
calumnious  imputations.  She  resolved  to  lay  bare  her  life 
from  childhood  to  the  present  hour,  and  thus  solemnly  appeal 
from  the  judgment  of  her  contemporaries  to  that  of  posterity. 
Her  Memoirs  depict  Madame  Roland  as  no  other  pen  can  ever 
paint  her.  We  see  her  there  as  she  was  :  a  beautiful,  real 
being,  heroic  and  serene,  and  bearing,  through  all  her  rashness 
and  pride,  the  tokens  of  a  soul  so  noble  and  so  pure  as  will 
call  forth  the  admiration  and  reverence  of  future  ages.  The 
charming  ease  and  grace  with  which  she  retraces  the  history 
of  her  childhood,  the  sudden  transition  from  those  fresh  and 
pure  images  of  the  past  to  the  fearful  gloom  of  the  present, 
the  burning  eloquence  of  her  indignation  against  the  tyrants 
of  France,  the  commanding  strength  of  mind  which  she  uncon- 
sciously displays,  render  these  Memoirs  almost  unique  :  not, 
indeed,  as  a  literary  production,  great  as  their  merits  are,  but 
*  Memoirs,  p.  202,  vol.  ii. 


MADAME  ROLAND'S  MEMOIES.  175 

as  a  work  destined  to  fasten  with  deep  and  irresistible  power 
on  the  human  heart. 

These  Memoirs  possess,  moreover,  a  dramatic  interest,  pecu- 
liar to  themselves  and  to  the  circumstances  under  which  they 
were  written.  When  we  read  of  the  enthusiastic  child  poring 
over  the  old  volume  of  Plutarch,  we  think  of  her  who  writes 
those  pages,  in  a  prison,  with  the  scaffold  awaiting  its  victim. 
She  herself  interrupts  those  pictures  of  her  childhood  to  weep, 
not  over  her  fate,  but  over  her  friends  and  her  country.  In 
the  brief  and  passionate  eloquence  with  which  she  draws  the 
fearful  picture  of  oppressed  and  degraded  France,  we  perceive 
the  source  of  her  former  power,  and  recognise  the  soul  of  the 
Gironde.  The  pages  of  those  Memoirs,  which  she  wrote  and 
confided  by  stealth  to  her  friend  Champagneux,  are  occasionally 
broken  off  with  mournful  intimations  that  they  may  never  be 
finished  On  the  5th  of  September  1793,  we  find  her  writing 
thus,  in  a  note  to  Champagneux — "  I  cut  this  copy  in  order 
to  place  what  is  written  in  the  little  box.  When  I  perceive 
that  a  revolutionary  army  has  been  decreed,  that  new  tribunals 
of  blood  are  being  formed,  that  the  land  is  menaced  with 
famine,  and  that  tyrants  no  longer  know  what  to  do,  I  feel 
that  they  are  going  to  make  new  victims,  and  that  no  one  is 
assured  of  life." 

Conscious  of  her  approaching  fate,  she  hurried  over  her 
task  :  the  last  pages  of  the  Memoirs  bear  evident  traces  of  the 
haste  with  which  they  were  written.  She  expresses  herself 
thus  in  October — "  I  have  been  interrupted,  in  order  to  be 
informed  that  I  am  comprised  in  the  act  of  accusation  with 
Brissot,  and  so  many  other  deputies  recently  arrested.  The 
tyrants  think  to  fill  the  chasm  open  before  them  by  casting  in 
honest  men  ;  but  they  shall  fall  into  it  after  them.  I  do  not 
fear  to  go  to  the  scaffold  in  such  good  company  ;  there  would 
be  shame  in  living  amongst  guilty  wretches.  I  shall  send 
this  copy  and  continue  with  another,  if  I  am  not  prevented. 
Friday,  4th  of  October  ;  birthday  of  my  daughter,  who  is  this 
day  twelve  years  old." 

The  thought  of  her  daughter  was  the  only  one  that  could 


176  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

disturb  her  heroic  serenity.  Helen-Maria  Williams  has  left 
the  following  account  of  a  visit  which  she  paid  to  Madame 
Roland  in  the  prison  of  Sainte-Pelagie  :  "  Her  soul,  superior 
to  circumstances,  retained  its  accustomed  serenity,  and  she 
conversed  with  the  same  animated  cheerfulness  in  her  little 
cell  as  she  used  to  do  in  the  hotel  of  the  minister.  She  had 
provided  herself  with  a  few  books,  and  I  found  her  reading 
Plutarch.  She  told  me  that  she  expected  to  die  ,  and  the 
look  of  placid  resignation  with  which  she  said  it,  convinced 
me  that  she  was  prepared  to  met  death  with  a  firmness  worthy 
of  her  exalted  character.  "When  I  inquired  after  her  daughter, 
an  only  child  of  twelve  years  of  age,  she  burst  into  tears  ;  and, 
at  the  overwhelming  recollection  of  her  husband  and  child, 
the  courage  of  the  victim  of  liberty  was  lost  in  the  feelings  of 
the  wife  and  the  mother." 

With  the  exception  of  Vergniaud  and  a  few  more,  the 
Girondists  were  not  all  aware  of  their  destiny  :  Brissot  con- 
sidered his  acquittal  possible.  Jealous  of  the  honour  of  her 
friend,  and  unwilling  that  he  should  be  led  to  betray  any  un- 
worthy weakness,  Madame  Roland  wrote  to  him  from  her 
prison,  and  stoically  undeceived  him.  Nothing  could  shew 
in  a  stronger  light  the  severe  truthfulness  of  her  friendship. 

Towards  the  close  of  her  imprisonment,  Madame  Roland 
received  several  offers  of  escape  ;  of  which  she  refused  to  avail 
herself.  One  of  those  offers  came  from  Madame  Bonchaud, 
the  gaoler's  wife,  who  had  conceived  a  warm  attachment  for 
her  prisoner,  and  passionately  entreated  her  to  allow  herself 
to  be  saved.  No  prayers  could  induce  Madame  Roland  to 
comply.  Henriette  Cannet,  one  of  the  convent  friends  to 
whom  she  addressed  the  long  correspondence  recently  pub- 
blished,  visited  her  in  her  prison  for  the  same  purpose. 
Henriette,  who  was  somewhat  older  than  her  friend,  had  been 
destined  by  her  parents  for  M.  Roland,  whom  she  secretly 
loved  ;  she,  however,  approved  his  choice  when  he  preferred 
and  married  Manon,  and  the  harmony  of  their  friendship  was 
not  once  disturbed  by  this  event.  Madame  Roland  hurriedly 
alludes  to  the  offer  of  Henriette  towards  the  close  of  her  Me- 


HARSH  TREATMENT  SHE  RECEIVES.  177 

moirs.  It  was  thus  related,  by  Henriette  herself  to  a  friend  : 
"  I  was  a  widow,"  said  she,  "  and  I  had  no  children  ;  Madame 
Roland,  on  the  contrary,  had  a  husband  advanced  in  years  and 
a  lovely  little  girl :  both  needed  her  utmost  care.  What  could 
be  more  natural  than  for  me  to  expose  my  useless  life  in  order 
to  save  hers,  so  precious  to  her  family  ?  I  wanted  her  to  ex- 
change her  attire  for  mine,  and  to  endeavour  to  escape  whilst 
I  remained  behind.  But  neither  prayers  nor  tears  availed. 
'  They  would  kill  thee,  my  good  Henriette,'  she  unceasingly 
repeated  :  '  thy  blood  would  ever  fall  on  me.  Sooner  would 
I  suffer  death  a  thousand  times,  than  reproach  myself  with 
thine  !'  Seeing  that  nothing  could  move  her,  I  bade  her  fare- 
well :  to  behold  her  no  more." 

Madame  Eoland  at  first  thought  that  she  was  to  be  tried 
with  the  Girondists  ;  but  the  judges  dreaded  the  effect  of  her 
beauty  and  eloquence,  and  she  was  not  called  forward  even  as 
a  witness.  The  twenty-two  Girondists  heard  their  sentence, 
and  met  its  execution  without  shrinking.  Young,  patriotic, 
and  some  of  them  gifted  with  surpassing  eloquence,  they  per- 
ished on  the  fatal  Place  de  la  Kevolution  for  having  resisted 
the  progress  of  the  Eeign  of  Terror.  They  acted  in  the  spirit 
of  the  two  noble  lines  of  their  friend,  Condorcet : — 

"  Vis  m'ont  dit :  Clioisis  d'etre  oppresseur  ou  victime; 
J'embrassai  le  malheur,  et  leur  laissai  le  crime." 

And  this  it  is  that  has  purified  and  ennobled  their  memory. 
If  they  yielded  too  much  to  popular  excesses,  they  heroically 
withstood  the  most  fearful  tyranny  on  record.  Their  resist- 
ance was  sealed  with  blood  ;  but  the  first  shed  was  their  own  : 
when  their  errors  are  remembered,  this  will  not  be  forgotten. 

On  the  day  of  their  execution,  31st  of  October  1793, 
Madame  Roland  was  transferred  to  the  Conciergerie,  which 
they  had  just  left  for  the  scaffold,  and  thrown  into  a  damp 
and  gloomy  dungeon.  She  had  no  bed,  until  one  of  the 
prisoners  gave  her  up  his  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  severity 
of  the  weather,  she  was  allowed  no  covering.  Her  room  was 
close  to  that  which  Marie  Antoinette  had  left  a  few  days 

VOL    II.  M 


178  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

before  her  arrival.  There  was  a  strange  link  between  the 
destinies  of  those  two  women.  Born  within  a  few  months  of 
each  other — one  in  the  sheltering  obscurity  of  the  French 
bourgeoisie,  the  other  on  the  steps  of  an  imperial  throne — 
they  met  in  antagonism  on  the  stormy  path  of  the  French 
revolution.  Both  were  beautiful,  ardent,  and  heroic,  and 
helped  to  ruin,  by  their  imprudence,  the  opposite  causes  to 
which  they  clung.  In  her  republican  ardour,  Madame  Roland 
hastened  the  fall  of  Marie  Antoinette ;  but  it  was,  after  en- 
joying a  brief  triumph,  to  end  by  following  the  fallen  queen 
in  her  dungeon,  and  to  perish  on  the  same  scaffold.  Opposed 
in  life,  the  two  rivals  met  in  death  r  the  revolutionary  axe 
knew  no  distinction  of  victims. 

In  this  her  last  prison,  Madame  Boland  displayed  her 
habitual  firmness.  On  the  day  following  her  arrival,  she  was 
examined  for  three  hours  by  the  judge,  David.  Her  eloquence 
and  presence  of  mind  did  not  once  forsake  her.  She  wrote  to 
the  last ;  as  if  it  were  beyond  the  power  of  external  events  to 
disturb  her  serenity.  She  often  spoke  at  the  iron  grating 
which  divided  the  part  of  the  prison  in  which  men  were  con- 
fined from  that  which  she  inhabited.  Riouffe,  one  of  the  few 
amongst  those  who  beheld  her  then,  that  survived  the  Reign 
of  Terror,  thus  describes  the  effect  she  produced  upon  him  : 
"  Something  more  than  what  usually  appears  in  the  looks  of 
woman  painted  itself  in  her  large  dark  eyes,  full  of  expression 
and  sweetness.  She  spoke  at  the  grating  with  the  freedom 
and  courage  of  a  great  man.  We  were  all  attentive  around 
her,  in  a  sort  of  admiration  and  amazement.  Her  discourse 
was  grave,  without  coldness.  She  expressed  herself  with  a 
purity,  a  harmony,  and  a  prosody,  that  rendered  her  language 
a  music  with  which  the  ear  never  became  sated.  She  never 
spoke  of  the  deputies  who  had  perished,  save  with  respect ; 
but  at  the  same  time  without  effeminate  pity  •  she  even  re- 
proached them  with  not  having  taken  sufficiently  vigorous 
measures.  She  generally  designated  them  as  '  our  friends.' 
She  often  called  Claviere,  in  order  to  speak  to  him.  Some- 
times the  feelings  of  her  sex  prevailed,  and  the  traces  of  tears 


TKIAL  BEFORE  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  TRIBUNAL.      179 

shewed  that  she  had  been  weeping  at  the  thought  of  her  child 
and  her  husband.  This  mixture  of  strength  and  weakness 
rendered  her  more  interesting.  The  woman  who  attended  her 
said  to  me  one  day, — '  Before  you  she  collects  her  strength, 
but  in  her  own  room  she  will  sit  three  hours,  sometimes,  lean- 
ing on  her  window  and  weeping.'" 

Although  without  a  doubt  of  her  ultimate  fate,  she  took 
notes  for  her  interrogatories,  and  prepared  her  defence  from  a 
feeling  of  duty ;  she  addressed  several  farewell  letters  to  those 
she  had  loved,  amongst  the  rest  to  an  attached  female  servant. 
"  Remember  thy  mother,"  she  wrote  to  her  youthful  daughter  ; 
"  be  worthy  of  thy  parents  :  they  leave  thee  great  examples, 
and  if  thou  knowest  how  to  profit  by  them,  thine  shall  not 

be  a  useless  life.     Farewell,  beloved  child A  time 

may  come  when  thou  shalt  be  able  to  judge  of  the  effort  I 
now  make  not  to  allow  myself  to  be  softened  by  thy  gentle 
image.     I  press  thee  to  my  bosom.     Farewell,  Eudora  !" 

The  day  before  her  trial,  Madame  Roland  was  visited  by 
her  counsel,  Chauveau  de  la  Garde,  the  defender  of  Charlotte 
Corday  and  Marie  Antoinette.  She  drew  a  ring  from  her 
finger,  and  said,  "  To-morrow,  I  shall  be  no  more.  I  know 
the  fate  which  awaits  me.  Your  kind  assistance  cannot  avail 
aught  for  me,  and  would  but  endanger  you,  without  saving 
my  life.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  not  to  come  to  the  tribunal 
but  to  accept  of  this  last  testimony  of  my  regard."  Early 
on  the  following  day  she  appeared  before  the  revolutionary 
tribunal,  attired  in  white  as  a  symbol  of  her  innocence.  She 
had  been  refused  the  means  of  dressing  her  long  dark  hair, 
which  fell  in  thick  waves  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and 
down  to  her  waist.  Never  had  she  looked  more  lovely. 
"  She  would  have  softened  the  hardest  hearts,"  said  Riouffe  ; 
"but  had  those  monsters  hearts'?"  Her  trial  was,  like  that 
of  the  Girondists,  a  mockery  of  all  justice.  She  was  not 
allowed  to  read  her  defence  :  the  president  interrupted  her 
repeatedly,  and  when  she  appealed  to  the  people,  they 
answered  with  cries  of  u  To  the  guillotine  !"  Insulting  ques- 
tions affecting  her  honour  were  addressed  to  her  by  Fouquier 


180  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Tinville.  Tears  of  indignant  shame  rose  to  her  eyes;  but 
she  answered  him  with  such  eloquent  scorn  that  her  replies 
were  immediately  checked,  lest  they  should  influence  the  jury. 
No  injustice  could,  however,  subdue  her  proud  and  dignified 
bearing.  She  gloried  openly  in  that  which  her  enemies  made 
a  subject  of  reproach.  She  declared  herself  proud  of  being 
the  wife  of  Roland,  and  of  having  been  the  friend  of  the 
martyred  Girondists.  Her  innocence  was  so  evident,  that,  in 
order  to  be  able  to  convict  her  of  some  ostensible  crime,  the 
judge  was  compelled  to  ask  her  to  reveal  the  asylum  of  her 
husband.  She  refused  to  do  so,  declaring  that  she  knew  of 
no  law  by  which  she  could  be  obliged  to  violate  the  strongest 
feelings  of  nature.  This  sufficed,  and  she  was  immediately 
condemned. 

On  hearing  her  sentence  read,  she  rose,  and  said  with 
mingled  irony  and  dignity,  "  I  must  thank  you  for  thinking 
me  worthy  of  sharing  the  fate  of  the  great  men  whom  you  have 
assassinated.  I  will  endeavour  to  imitate  their  firmness  on 
the  scaffold."  She  left  the  hall  of  judgment,  and  returned  to 
the  Conciergerie  with  a  light  and  rapid  step  that  seemed  to 
betoken  a  feeling  of  inward  joy.  All  the  prisoners  were 
waiting  to  see  her  appear  under  the  gloomy  vault  which  was 
to  give  forth  so  many  victims.  Passing  her  hand  across  her 
neck,  with  a  quick  and  significant  gesture,  she  intimated  that 
she  had  been  condemned,  and  that  the  sentence  was  death. 
Though  she  had  opium  in  her  possession,  she  nobly  disdained 
to  commit  suicide.  She  re-entered  her  room  for  a  few  hours, 
and  then  ascended  the  last  of  the  carts  which  were  that  day, 
10th  of  November  1793,  going  to  the  scaffold.  Her  pure 
white  garments  and  dark-flowing  tresses  increased  the  chaste 
and  spiritual  character  of  her  beauty.  She  was  calm,  but 
with,  a  higher  calmness  than  that  of  resignation.  Hers  was 
the  serenity  of  a  noble  soul  in  its  last  and  solemn  triumph, 
when  the  struggle  between  life  and  death  is  past.  She  knew 
that  martyrdom,  even  more  so  than  genius,  can  confer  fame  : 
the  scaffold  was  for  her  but  the  threshold  of  a  glorious  immor- 
tality. 


MADAME  ROLAND  AT  THE  SCAFFOLD.  181 

Madame  Eoland  was  seated  in  the  cart  with  an  infirm  old 
man  named  La  Marche,  who  wept  and  testified  the  deepest 
dejection  as  they  proceeded  to  the  place  of  execution.  The 
heroic-souled  woman  did  not  disdain  to  administer  gentle  con- 
solation to  her  weak  companion.  She  endeavoured  to  inspire 
him  with  her  own  serene  and  cheerful  courage,  and  succeeded 
in  making  him  smile  several  times  during  their  progress.  The 
scaffold  stood  on  what  was  then  the  Place  de  la  Revolution, 
a  naked  dreary  space  extending  between  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries  and  the  Champs  Elysees.  This  spot,  now  known  as 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  is  perhaps  the  most  magnificent 
place  in  Europe.  One  of  the  two  marble  fountains  with  which 
it  is  adorned  has  been  erected  on  the  spot  where  the  red 
guillotine  formerly  received  the  noblest  blood  of  France,  and 
the  Egyptian  obelisk  rises  where  the  clay  statue  of  a  hollow 
freedom  looked  down  on  the  instrument  of  death. 

The  cart  which  bore  Madame  Eoland  and  her  companion 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold.  La  Marche  was  pale  and 
trembling.  A  feeling  of  generous  and  sublime  compassion 
filled  Madame  Roland's  heart  in  this  last  moment.  The 
privilege  of  ascending  the  scaffold  first,  and  being  thus  spared 
the  lingering  torture  of  beholding  her  companion's  death,  had 
been  granted  to  her  as  a  woman  :  she  resolved  to  waive  her 
right  in  favour  of  the  infirm  and  terrified  old  man.  Turning 
towards  him,  she  gently  said,  "  Go  first :  let  me  at  least  spare 
you  the  pain  of  seeing  my  blood  shed."  The  executioner,  of 
whom  she  begged  that  this  last  indulgence  might  be  granted 
to  her  companion,  refused  to  accede  to  the  proposed  arrange- 
ment, telling  her  his  orders  were  that  she  should  die  first- 
"But  you  cannot  I  am  sure,"  she  replied,  with  a  serene 
smile,  "  refuse  the  last  request  of  a  lady."  He  still  hesitated, 
but  ended  at  length  by  complying  with  her  desire. 

"When  the  execution  of  La  Marche  was  over,  Madame 
Roland  ascended  the  scaffold  in  her  turn:  she  gazed  for  a 
while  on  the  statue  of  Liberty,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
placed  in  bitter  mockery  near  the  guillotine,  and  bowing 
gravely  before  it,   pronounced  the  memorable  words,   "Ah, 


182  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

Liberty!  how  many  crimes  are  committed  in  thy  name!" 
With  this  last  protest  against  the  stern  tyranny  which  had 
usurped  the  name  of  republican  freedom,  she  delivered  herself 
over  to  the  executioner  and  accomplished  her  destiny. 

It  is  said  that  on  her  way  to  the  scaffold,  and  almost  at  the 
foot  of  the  guillotine,  Madame  Eoland  asked  for  a  pen  and 
some  paper,  in  order  to  write  down  the  deep  and  unusual 
emotions  which  approaching  death  had  awakened  in  her  soul. 
The  request  was  refused  :  it  was  a  strange  and  solemn  one  to 
make  at  such  an  hour,  when  she  stood  on  the  very  threshold 
of  earthly  life  and  eternity.  Did  she  wish  to  continue  her 
unfinished  Memoirs  to  the  last  ?  Or  to  pour  forth  once  more 
her  burning  eloquence  against  the  tyrants  of  France  ?  Never 
were  her  calm  fearlessness  of  death  itself,  and  her  longing 
desire  not  to  pass  away  from  life  without  leaving  some  further 
record  of  her  better  part  behind,  more  strongly  displayed. 
What  would  not  posterity  now  give  for  that  unwritten  page  ? 
Her  thoughts  would  have  flown  calmly  even  then ;  for  she 
had  that  serenity  which  is  true  courage ;  but  the  last  breath- 
ings of  that  heroic  spirit  were  not  destined  to  be  revealed  on 
earth. 

There  is  in  the  stoicism  of  Madame  Koland  something  so  ex- 
traordinary that  many  persons  have  been  repelled  by  it  from  a 
closer  study  of  her  character.  Women  have  often  died  with 
as  much  heroism,  but  few  have  met  death  so  unshrinkingly. 
This  feeling  did  not  arise  in  Madame  Eoland  from  indiffer- 
ence to  life:  she  knew  how  to  value  it  rightly;  but,  if  pur- 
chased at  the  cost  of  honour,  she  held  it  worthless.  She  had 
mourned  over  her  premature  fate,  and  wept  for  hours  in  her 
prison;  she  was  serene  and  undaunted  on  the  scaffold:  the 
struggle  was  then  past :  for  all  strong  minds — and  they  alone 
can  feel  deeply — the  bitterness  of  a  sacrifice  lies  not  in  the 
hour  of  its  external  accomplishment,  but  in  that  by  which  it 
has  been  preceded.  Was  it  on  the  cross  that  the  Saviour  of 
mankind  said,  "O  Father,  take  this  cup  from  me;"  or  when, 
bending  beneath  the  weight  of  His  lonely  agony,  He  watched 
and  prayed  on  the  Olive  Mount  1 


SORROW  CAUSED  BY  HER  DEATH.  183 

The  stoicism  of  Madame  Roland  has  been  regarded  as  a 
proof  that  she  was  unwomanly.  She  perhaps  lacked  that 
humility  which  exists  in  those  souls  alone  who  feel  the  no- 
thingness of  man  before  the  infinite  greatness  of  God  :  but 
men  are  seldom  attracted  by  unfeminine  women ;  and  yet  all 
the  Girondists,  and  at  first  the  Mountaineers,  gathered  around 
her,  and,  notwithstanding  their  mutual  distrust,  long  remained 
bound  by  a  spell  they  could  not  shake  off.  If  she  failed  in 
the  gentler  virtues  of  woman,  why  was  she  so  sincerely  loved 
by  those  who  approached  her  1  Her  faithful  female  servant,  on 
learning  the  death  of  her  mistress,  was  seized  with  a  grief  so 
deep,  that,  presenting  herself  before  the  revolutionary  tribunal, 
she  asked  the  sanguinary  judges  who  had  condemned  Madame 
Roland  to  allow  her  to  perish  on  the  same  scaffold :  the  vio- 
lence of  her  despair  caused  them  to  dismiss  her  as  insane.  A 
man  named  Lecoq,  who  had  been  employed  by  Madame 
Roland  in  some  menial  capacity,  and  who  had  conceived  for 
her  the  most  devoted  attachment,  also  appeared  before  the 
tribunal  with  a  similar  request ;  his  prayer  was  granted :  he 
was  condemned,  and  immediately  guillotined. 

"When  the  fugitive  and  remaining  Girondists  learned,  in 
their  retreat,  the  death  of  the  beautiful  and  heroic  woman 
around  whom  they  had  formerly  gathered,  and  whose  eloquence 
had  so  often  cheered  them,  they  were  filled  with  sorrow  and 
horror.  Buzot  remained  for  several  days  delirious  :  the  depth 
of  his  grief  revealed  the  fervour  of  the  attachment  he  is  as- 
serted to  have  felt  for  Madame  Roland. 

She  had  foretold  that  Roland  would  not  survive  her :  her 
prediction  was  fulfilled.  His  first  intention,  on  learning  her 
death,  was  to  proceed  to  Paris,  appear  in  the  Convention,  and 
there,  after  solemnly  upbraiding  the  Mountaineers  for  the 
murder  of  hi.s  wife,  either  to  perish  by  their  hands  or  die  on 
the  scaffold.  The  consideration  that  his  property  would  be 
forfeited  to  the  state  if  he  were  judicially  condemned,  and  that 
his  only  child  would  thus  be  left  destitute,  made  him  alter  his 
decision  and  resolve  on  being  the  instrument  of  his  own  death. 
After  bidding  the  friends  to  whose  kindness  he  owed  an  asylum 


184  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

a  last  farewell,  he  left  them,  and  proceeded  alone  on  the  road, 
leading  from  Eouen  to  Paris.  A  few  passengers  found  him 
the  next  morning  seated  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  reclining 
against  the  trunk.  He  had  stabbed  himself  to  the  heart,  and 
was  quite  dead  :  his  whole  attitude  was  calm  and  composed, 
like  that  of  a  man  in  a  deep  slumber :  he  had  fastened  to  his 

dress  a  piece  of  paper,  on  which  were  written  the  following 

words,  "  Whoever  thou   mayst  be,  respect   these    remains ; 

they  are  those  of  a  virtuous  man :  on  learning  the  death  of  my 

wife,  I  would  not  remain  one  day  longer  in  a  world  stained 

with  crimes." 

The  death  of  Madame  Koland  will  remain  as  one  of  the 

greatest  stains  on  the  history  of  the  revolution.     And  yet  it  is 

difficult  to  lament  that  death — 

"After  life's  fitful  fever,  she  sleeps  welL" 

It  is  well  for  her  to  die  thus,  in  the  noonday  of  life;  her  pure 
and  heroic  dreams  still  fresh  in  her  soul;  her  noble  blood 
poured  freely  fourth  for  the  cause  she  had  loved;  her  name 
beyond  the  reach  of  reproach  or  doubt.     She  died  young;  but 
what  would  have  been  her  fate  if  she  had  passed  unscathed 
through  the  days  of  terror,  and  lived  1     To  be  contemned ;  to 
see  her  motives  misunderstood  ;  to  be  accused  of  vanity,  in- 
sincerity, and  pride ;  to  be  stigmatised  as  unwomanly  in  her 
conduct  and  feelings  :  such  might  have  been  her  destiny,  until, 
bowed  down  by  years,  she  carried  an  obscure  and  unhonoured 
name  to  the  grave.     "  To  die  at  the  right  time,"  has  been  pro- 
nounced by  Chateaubriand  a  condition  of  glory;  that  condi- 
tion Madame  Roland  fulfilled :  it  was  well  for  herself  and  for 
posterity :  happiness  and  length  of  days  are  not  the  only  objects 
of  human  life.     To  be  faithful  to  the  truth  within  us  is  far 
better,  and  more  noble,  than  to  live.     A  destiny  like  hers  out- 
weighed all  suffering  and  all  sorrow:  she  felt  it,  and  this  it 
was  that  upheld  her  to  the  last. 

Hers  is  one  of  those  names  which,  through  all  the  differ- 
ences of  political  and  religious  creeds,  mankind  should  keep 
with  reverent  memory.     If  she  erred,  she  erred  nobly;  for  it 


EEFLECTIONS.  185 

was  through  a  fervent  and  exaggerated  faith  in  freedom  and 
humanity.  Higher  are  such  errors  than  the  cold  virtues  the 
angel  reproved  through  him  of  Patmos.* 

It  requires  little  knowledge  of  the  revolutionary  era  to  see 
at  a  glance,  that,  being  cast  on  such  times,  Madame  Koland 
could  not  have  escaped  her  destiny.  On  a  retrospective  view 
of  that  great  drama,  it  almost  seems  as  though  the  parts  of 
all  the  actors  had  been  marked  out  in  advance  by  fate.  Hers 
was  that  of  one  who  could  not  live  in  abject  fear ;  behold  deeds 
of  blood,  yet  be  silent :  who  must  speak  out,  though  the  scaf- 
fold were  in  view ;  pour  forth  her  indignant  soul  and  die  a 
martyr,  if  not  to  freedom,  at  least  to  truth.  For  in  those  days, 
so  aptly  named  Days  of  Terror,  it  was  the  craven  who  lived, 
and  the  brave,  whatever  their  political  creed  might  be,  who 
perished. 

Eventful  as  is  the  history  of  the  French  revolution,  it  offers 
few  pages  so  touching  as  those  which  relate  to  Madame 
Eoland.  Beautiful,  heroic,  devoted,  and  accomplished,  she 
spent  the  greater  portion  of  her  life  in  obscurity,  appeared  in 
the  world  for  a  few  brief  moments,  acted  her  part,  and  died 
on  a  scaffold.  Fidelity  to  its  own  impulses  is  the  test  of  a 
noble  nature.  Judged  by  that  test,  Madame  Roland  stands 
pure  before  us.  Nor  will  her  name  pass  forgotten.  It  is  im- 
perishably  associated  with  some  of  the  most  stirring  recollec- 
tions of  her  country :  with  its  noble,  though  vain,  dreams  of 
freedom,  and  the  story  of  its  brave  and  heroic  men. 

*  Apoc.  iii.  15,  10. 


chapter  virr. 

"WOMAN  UNDER  THE  RETGN  OF  TERROR. 

Although  we  have  brought  forward,  and  noticed  separately, 
a  few  prominent  heroines  of  the  revolution,  it  must  not  be 
concluded  that  there  was  anything  singular  in  the  end  of 
these  illustrious  victims,  howsoever  remarkable  their  character 
or  destiny  may  have  been  otherwise.  The  scaffold  on  which 
they  perished  was  daily  stained  with  the  blood  of  the  lowly 
and  the  great.  Crime  or  virtuer-eminence  or  obscurity,  met 
the  same  fate.     The  Reign  of  Terror  had  begun. 

We  have  seen liow,  after  the  massacres  of  September,  the 
Girondists  commenced  against  the  Jacobins  that  memorable 
struggle  which  ended  with  their  fall.  They  foresaw  the  rule 
of  blood  which  their  antagonists  wished  to  establish ;  they 
opposed  it,  and  had  the  honour  of  perishing  amongst  its 
earliest  victims.  Madame  Roland,  who  urged  them  on  in 
their  resistance,  Charlotte  Corday,  who  avenged  them,  both 
shared  their  fate.  Had  the  Girondists_sjicceeded,  the  blood  of 
a  widowed  and  defenceless  queen  would  never,  have  been 
shedpand  crimes  much  darker  still  might  have  been  jSpared-to 
France. 

The  fall  of  this  party  on  the  31st  of  MayJL793,  occurred 
at  a  periodwEen  the  internal  convulsions  of  France  menaced. 
fhejause~~Tjf--the  revoltrtroir~oB^gveT\rsidei  La  Vendee  had 
risen,  Lyons  was  in  open  revolt,  and  eveTy'province  protested 
and  murmured  against  the  tyranny  of  Paris.  A  fanatic 
named  Chalier  endeavoured  to  renew  at  Lyons  the  scenes  of 
blood  which  disgraced  the  capital.  In  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber 1792,  a  band  of  assassins  murdered  eleven  officers  con- 
fined in  the  fort  of  Pierre-Encise.    The  beautiful  Mademoiselle 


THE  WOMEN  OF  LYONS.  187 

de  Bellecice,  daughter  of  the  governor,  heroically  threw  her- 
self between  the  murderers  and  their  victims,  and  was  severely- 
wounded  in  her  vain  attempt  to  save  the  prisoners.  The 
Lyonnese,  indignant  at  the  sanguinary  sway  Chalier  sought  to 
fasten  upon  them,  effected  a  reaction,  and  condemned  him  to 
perish  :  the  first  victim  of  the  guillotine  which  he  had  brought 
and  erected  for  his  opponents.  These  events^occurred  j>re- 
cisely  at  the  time  when  the  Girondists  were  conquered  at  Paris 
by  the  Mountaineers. 

^Ee~citizens  ot  Lyons  were  too  much  committed  to  retract : 
encouraged  by  the  fugitive  royalists  and  Girondists,  who  had 
found  a  refuge  in  their  city,  they  resolved  to  brave  the  Con- 
vention. They  hoped  and  believed  that  similar  insurrections 
would  rise  throughout  all  France.  Some  of  them  counted  on 
the  foreign  troops  promised  by  the  exiled  princes;  and  all 
felt  that,  were  they  even  doomed  to  fall,  it  was  better  to 
perish  in  the  defence  of  their  city,  than  to  yield  thenifip1vpg  "p 
without  a  struggle  to  the  tyranny  of  the  Jacobins.  The  siege 
of  Lyons,  which  lasted  two  months,  is  celebrated  even 
amongst  the  memorable  and  fatal  events  of  the  French  revo- 
lution. The  most  indomitable  heroism  was  displayed  on  one 
side,  and  the  most  persevering  cruelty  on  the  other.  It  was 
not  until  the  town  was  nearly  in  ruins,  and  its  defenders  had 
been  reduced  to  one-half  of  their  original  number,  by  death 
and  famine,  that  the  Lyonnese  at  length  resolved  to  sur- 
render.    Terror_Jmmediately  entered   their  walls  with  the 


triumphantJacobins. Theluiy  of  lh~e  conquerors  resembled 
insanity.  They  changed  the  name  of  Lyons,  and  decreed 
that  it  should  be  demolished.  Fifteen  millions  were  spent  in 
destroying  the  finest  buildings  of  this  wealthy  city.  The 
prisons  were  crowded  to  suffocation ;  victims  of  either  sex 
and  every  age  were  guillotined,  until  the  waters  of  the  Rhone 
became  reddened  with  their  blood  ;  when  this  mode  of  death 
was  not  found  sufficiently  expeditious,  rows  of  two  hundred 
prisoners  were  cannonaded  and  shot  at  once,  in  the  plains 
outside  the  walls. 

The  women  of  Lyons  displayed  a  singular  degree  of  heroism 


188  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

during  the  whole  time  of  the  siege,  and,  after  the  surrender  of 
the  city,  many  fought  with  their  husbands  and  brothers  at  the 
breach ;  and,  like  them,  expiated  their  patriotism  on  a  scaffold. 
Amongst  them  was  a  beautiful  girl  of  seventeen,  named  Marie 
Adrian.  The  judges,  touched  with  her  beauty,  and  struck 
with  her  courageous  replies,  asked  her  what  she  would  do  if 
they  were  to  grant  her  her  life.  "  I  would  kill  you,  as  the 
enemies  of  my  country,"  replied  the  undaunted  girL  She 
ascended  the  scaffold  with  a  firm  step.  After  her  execution 
the  following  letter,  written  with  blood,  was  found  in  her 
bosom.  It  came  from  her  affianced  lover,  at  whose  side  she 
had  fought,  and  who  had  been  shot  a  few  days  before,  in  the 
plain  of  the  Brotteaux.  "  At  this  hour  to-morrow,"  he  wrote, 
"I  shall  be  no  more.  I  will  not  die  without  saying  once 
more,  I  love  thee.  Were  my  pardon  offered  me  to  say  the 
contrary,  I  should  refuse  it.  I  have  no  ink :  I  opened  a 
vein  to  write  to  thee  with  my  blood.  Would  that  I  might 
mingle  it  with  thine  throughout  eternity.  Adieu,  my 
dear  Marie,  weep  not :  let  the  angels  find  thee  as  beau- 
tiful as  I  shall  in  heaven.  I  go  to  wait  for  thee  :  tarry  not 
long." 

Death  became  a  boon  eagerly  sought  for  by  those  who 
survived  the  massacres  around  them.  A  young  girl  presented 
herself  before  the  tribunal,  and  exclaimed,  addressing  the 
judges,  "  You  have  killed  my  father,  my  brothers,  and  my 
betrothed ;  you  have  left  me  nothing  to  live  for :  kill  me 
now."  Her  request  was  refused,  and  in  her  despair  she  threw 
herself  into  the  Rhone.  Another  girl  brought  before  the 
tribunal  displayed  a  contempt  of  life  greater  still ;  because  it 
was  not  inspired  by  wounded  affection,  but  by  a  fervent  indig- 
nation against  the  oppressors  of  her  countrymen.  She  was 
accused  of  refusing  to  wear  the  national  cockade.  "  Why 
wilt  thou  not  wear  the  sign  of  the  people  1 "  asked  the  presi- 
dent. "  Because  you  wear  it,"  she  answered.  The  president 
wishing,  nevertheless,  to  save  her,  made  a  sign  to  the  gaoler 
behind  her,  who  fastened  the  cockade  in  her  hair ;  but  she 
tore  it  away  indignantly,  preferring  death  to  the  dishonour  of 


MADEMOISELLE    DELLEGLACE.  189 

wearing  a  badge  which,  from  the  rallying  sign  of  freedom,  had 
become  that  of  tyranny. 

But  female  heroism  and  devotedness  were  still  more  touch- 
ingly  displayed  in  the  prisons  of  Lyons,  which  were  chiefly 
filled  with  the  compromised  defenders  of  the  city.  Every 
morning,  crowds  of  women  might  be  seen  waiting  at  the 
prison  gates  to  gain  admittance.  Threats  or  insults  could  not 
turn  them  away  from  their  task  of  love.  They  obtained  by 
bribery  what  the  pity  of  the  gaolers  would  have  denied  :  the 
privilege  of  entering  the  prisons,  clothing  and  feeding  the 
inmates,  otten  in  a  fearful  state  of  destitution,  attendingon 
them  in  their  sickness,  cleaning^  their  wretched  cells,  and 
favouring  escapes  at  the  peril  of  their  own  lives.  Amongst 
thettevoled  Lyumiese  vvoiueurTrone  ought  to  occupy  a  more 
distinguished  place  than  Mademoiselle  Delleglace.  Her  father 
was  arrested  and  ordered  to  be  transferred  from  Lyons  to 
Paris.  His  daughter  requested  to  accompany  him,  but  was 
inhumanly  refused.  She,  nevertheless,  resolved  to  follow 
him,  and  accordingly  travelled  on  foot  the  distance  of  a 
hundred  and  nineteen  leagues.  When  she  reached  Paris,  her 
father  was  in  the  Conciergerie,  and  she  was  not  permitted  to 
see  him.  For  three  months  she  solicited  his  freedom  from  all 
the  influential  men  of  the  day,  and  at  length  succeeded  in 
accomplishing  her  object.  M.  Delleglace  was  liberated,  and 
set  out  for  Lyons  with  his  overjoyed  daughter.  But  the 
devoted  girl  was  never  more  to  behold  the  home  she  had  won 
back  for  her  father.  The  frail  form  which  had  heroically 
endured  fatigues  so  great  could  not  bear  the  slow  progress  of 
an  easy  journey.  The  superhuman  strength  by  which  she 
had  been  sustained  until  the  purpose  of  her  heart  was  won, 
vanished  now  that  it  was  no  longer  needed  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  her  holy  task.  She  fell  ill  on  the  way,  declined 
rapidly,  and  died  within  a  week  of  her  fathers  liberation. 

Happy  were  those  who  died,  like  Mademoiselle  Delleglace, 
and  who  did  not  live  to  behold  the  misery  and  desolation  of 
the  land.  Women,  pious,  pure,  and  lowly,  were  not  more 
spared  than~if~thev  had  ber'n.wo.a1t1iy  nnrl   gmnt.. — It  almost 


190  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

seemed  as  if  it  were  a  crime  to  live.  At  the  time  of  the 
siege  of  Lyons,  there  dwelt  in  that  city  a  single  woman  of 
great  generosity  and  virtue,  named  Francoise  Michallet,  and 
who,  like  Dorcas  in  the  apostolic  times,  was  known  by  the 
good  works  and  alms-deeds  which  she  did.  She  was  sent  to 
prison  for  confessing  her  attachment  to  the  proscribed"faithj^ 
for^ucSliad  Christianity  now  become.  From  the  loathsome 
duTTglionwhere  she  was  confined,  she  wrote  in  the  following 
terms  to  one  of  her  friends  :  "  When  shall  we  leave  this  land 
of  malediction  and  death  :  this  land  whence  virtue  is  almost 
banished,  and  where  crime  is  greeted  into  a  divinity?  0 
death,  how  blessed  art  thou  to  the  heart  that  sigheth  for  its 
God  ! "  Francoise  was  soon  condemned  by  the  tribunal ;  she 
slept  on  the  night  preceding  her  execution  with  more  tran- 
quillity than  she  had  yet  manifested.  Before  going  forth 
to  death,  she  divested  herself  of  all  the  clothes  with  which 
she  could  dispense,  and  even  took  off  her  shoes  and  stockings, 
in  order  to  distribute  them  amongst  the  poor.  It  was  a 
damp  and  chill  February  morning,  and  one  of  the  turn- 
keys observed  to  her  that  she  would  catch  cold.  "  Not  for 
long,"  was  her  calm  and  laconic  reply.  She  was  executed 
with  eleven  women  and  one  man,  a  .priest.  Francoise 
Michallet  asked  as  a  favour  to  perish  last,  in  order  to  exhort 
and  encourage  her  companions  to  the  end.  "When  we  see 
such  great  victims  as  Marie  Antoinette  and  Madame  Koland 
dying  courageously,  we  may,  without  suspecting  their  firm- 
ness, believe  that  they  were  not  indifferent  to  the  judgment 
which  posterity  would  pass  on  their  last  moments ;  but  what 
had  the  obscure  girl  of  Lyons  to  hope  from  fame,  when 
she  asked  to  see  twelve  heads  fall  before  her  own  in  order 
that  she  might  accomplish  her  heroic  and  Christian  task  ? 

Similar  scenes  were  enacted  throughout  all  France.  The 
representatives  of  the  people  sent  by  ling  Convention  tothe 
provinces  exercised  their  unlimited  power  with  unparallplnd 
insolence  and  tyranny.  They  seized  on  the  property  of  Jn- 
offensive  citizelis7"5en^tfarnrahd.  thelrfamilies  to  deathf  burned 
ourwhole  villages,  and  devastntprl  t.Vio  cmir)tiy  ■  jLgJJ^jni+r.irf- 


TYRANNY  OF  THE  TRIBUNAL  AT  ORANGE.     191 

of  their  own  native  land,  it  were  the  unfriendly  soil  of  a  con- 
quered  foe,  r ersons  remotely  suspected  of  royalism  or  fede- 
ralism  were,  without  rtjwisssiuu,  duuwed  10  die.  WeaHluaSd 
talents  became~so~many  crimes  worthy  ot  death.  _  Some  per- 
ished because  they  were  sad,  others  because  they  were  too 
gay.  Individuals  were  forbidden,  as  in  Lyons,  to  weep  for 
their  murdered  relatives  :  they  were  expected  to  rejoice  when 
the  head  of  one  they  loved  had  fallen  beneath  the  knife  of  the 
guillotine.  Amongst  the  great  offences  of  those  times  was 
public  or  eveh^pftvatc  adherence  to  Chiibliallliy;  It  is  true 
that  constitutional  worship  was  authorised  by  the  state,  but 
the  Atheist  faction,  headed  by  Anacharsis  Clootz  and  Hebert, 
succeeded  in  causing  the  churches  to  be  closed,  or  desecrated 
by  the  impious  adoration  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason.  As  long 
as  this  state  of  things  prevailed,  and  even  for  a  longer  period, 
nonjuring  priests,  nuns  whose  convents  had  been  opened,  and 
persons  noted  for  Iheir  attachment  to  religion,  were  daily 
hurried  to  the  guillotine. 

— "Maignet,  proconsul  of  the  department  of  Vaucluse,  whence 
he  exercised  a  dictatorial  sway  over  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  south  of  France,  made  the  town  of  Orange  the  seat  of  his 
arbitrary  power.  "With  the  approbation  of  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety,  Tip  ps*a^ghp<i  a  revolutionary  tribunal,  free 
from  the  encumbrance  of  a  jury  ;  but  held  by  five  judges,  who 
were  to  convict  without  proof  whenever  they  felt  satisfied  of 
the  guilt  of  the  accused.  Thirty-two  nuns  were  amongst  the~~ 
victims  which  Maignet  was  thus  enabled  to  immolate.  On 
the  13th  of  May  1794,  forty- two  nuns  of  different  orders  were 
thrown  at  once  into  the  prisons  of  Orange.  They  all  deter- 
mined, on  the  day  which  followed  their  incarceration,  to  adopt 
the  same  rule,  and  share  with  one  another  whatever  they  pos- 
sessed, like  the  Christians  in  the  primitive  ages  of  the  Church. 
In  the  space  of  two  months,  thirty-two  of  these  nuns  were  led 
to  death  ;  ten  survived  the  Reign  of  Terror.  It  was  generally 
at  nine  in  the  morning  that  they  were  summoned,  five  or  six 
at  a  time,  before  the  tribunal.  Previous  to  that  hour  the 
nuns,  who  in  their  prison  led  a  life  of  monastic  regularity, 


192  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

assembled  to  read  the  prayers  for  the  dying,  and  to  renew  their 
baptismal  and  religious  vows.  Those  who  were  called  away 
bade  their  sisters  a  farewell  they  knew  to  be  the  last.  "Whilst 
waiting  the  hour  of  their  execution,  they  were  placed  in  a 
court  named  the  Circus,  because,  according  to  a  popular  tradi- 
tion, it  formed  part  of  an  arena  where,  in  the  days  of  Nero, 
Christians  had  formerly  suffered  for  their  faith.  At  six  in  the 
evening,  the  general  hour  of  execution,  the  surviving  nuns 
again  read  the  prayers  for  the  dying;  they  all  prayed  in 
silence,  when  loud  cries  from  without,  accompanied  by  the 
sound  of  the  drum,  announced  the  departure  of  the  condemned 
for  the  scaffold.  When  all  was  over,  they  filled  the  prison 
with  the  solemn  strains  of  the  Te  Deum  Laudamus.  Those 
who  perished  met  their  fate  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  fervent 
religious  conviction,  and  with  that  simplicity  and  resignation 
characteristic  of  their  sex.  Two  of  the  nuns  were  one  day 
called  to  the  tribunal,  somewhat  later  than  the  usual  hour. 
"  But,"  observed  one  of  them,  with  ingenuous  earnestness,  to 
the  gendarmes,  "  we  have  not  said  our  vespers  !"  "  We  shall 
say  them  in  heaven  to-day,"  replied  her  companion.  So  far 
were  they  from  dreading  death,  that  one  of  them  offered  her- 
self daily,  and  unasked,  to  the  gendarmes  who  came  to  call 
her  companions.  She  at  last  appeared  before  the  tribunal 
with  her  sister,  and  was  the  only  one  condemned  that  day. 
"Alas  !"  mournfully  cried  her  sister,  "  must  you,  then,  go  to 
martyrdom  without  me  ?  What  shall  I  do  in  this  exile,  when 
you  leave  me?"  Her  exile,  as  she  termed  it,  did  not  last 
more  than  a  week.  Many  of  these  enthusiastic  nuns,  on  hear- 
ing their  sentence,  thanked  the  judges  for  the  eternal  happi- 
ness they  were  procuring  them.  Several  devoutly  kissed  the 
guillotine  as  the  blessed  instrument  of  their  martyrdom.  The 
gendarmes  who  led  them  to  the  scaffold,  looked  upon  them 
with  undisguised  wonder ;  and  afterwards  observed,  "  These 
nuns  go  to  death  as  joyfully  as  if  they  went  to  a  wedding." 

What  were  the  crimes  of  these  women  1  That,  in  an  age 
of  unecpuaUed_rn^)fligacy_and  corruption,  they  remained  apart, 
to  lead  a  life  of  purity  and  peace,  to  pray  for  the  erring  and 


MADAME  BOUQUEY.  193 

relieve  the  wretched.  That  they  repudiated  the  freedom 
which  the  revolution  gave  them,  in  order  to  remain  faithful 
to  the  vows  they  had  willingly  embraced  :  for  this  they  per- 
ished. 

As  severe  as  the  religious  persecutions  were  those  which  the 
proconsuls  directed  against  the  fugitive  Girondists  and  their 
adherents.  In  the  province  which  they  had  represented  with 
so  much  courage  and  eloquence,  the  proscribed  deputies  of  the 
Gironde  could  scarcely  find  a  roof  beneath  which  they  might 
repose  in  safety.  But  whilst  man  shrank  from  them  in  fear, 
they  found  woman,  with  lew  exceptions,  ever  hospitable  and 
kind!  Madame  Bouquey,  sister-in-law  of  the  Girondist  Guadet, 
left  Paris  for  Saint-Emilion,  near  Bourdeaux,  on  purpose  to 
assist  him  and  his  friends.  She  first  concealed  him,  with 
Salles,  in  the  deep  grottoes  of  Saint-Emilion ;  to  one  of  which 
her  house  gave  access  through  a  sort  of  well  thirty  feet  deep. 
Hearing  of  the  miserable  plight  of  Barbaroux,  Louvet,  and 
Valady,  she  immediately  said,  "  Let  them  come."  Not  long 
after  this,  she  received  intimation  of  the  fact  that  Buzot  and 
Pethion  had  been  compelled  to  change  their  asylum  seven 
times  within  the  space  of  a  fortnight.  "  Ah  !  let  them  come 
too,"  exclaimed  the  kind-hearted  woman.  They  came,  and 
were  received  as  though  their  presence  were  not  fraught  with 
death.  Seven  outlawed  fugitives  now  dwelt  beneath  the  roof 
of  Madame  Bouquey.  Her  chief  embarrassment  was  to  pro- 
cure them  food :  so  great  was  the  scarcity  which  then  pre- 
vailed, that  the  municipality  only  allowed  her  one  pound  of 
bread  a  day.  Potatoes,  and  a  supply  of  dried  beans,  accord- 
ingly constituted  the  chief  food  of  her  guests.  They  slept 
till  twelve,  in  order  to  spare  a  breakfast.  A  vegetable  soup 
formed  their  dinner.  Towards  twilight  the  Girondists  left 
their  retreat,  and  gathered  round  their  kind  protectress,  who 
prepared  for  them  as  palatable  a  supper  as  prudence  would 
allow  her  to  procure,  and  which  she  seldom  touched  herself  in 
order  to  leave  the  more  for  them.  Whilst  she  behaved  thus 
"onerously,  the  country  was  filled  with  emissaries  of  the 
Jacobins,  who,  conscious  that  the  Girondists  were  concealed  in 
VOL  II.  N 


194 


WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 


the  vicinity,  uttered  the  most  fearful  threats  against  them  and 
those  by  whom  they  were  sheltered.  From  her  connexion 
with  Guadet,  Madame  Bouquey  was  especially  exposed  to 
their  persecutions  and  domiciliary  visits.  Although  sur- 
rounded by  persons  whom  the  presence  of  the  Girondists  in 
her  house  inspired  with  the  most  lively  alarm,  she  remained 
undismayed.  "  Let  the  inquisitors  come,"  she  gaily  said  to 
her  proteges ;  "  I  am  easy,  provided  it  is  not  you  who  receive 
them.  All  I  fear  is,  that  they  may  arrest  me,  and  then  what 
will  become  of  you?"  She  kept  them  a  month  ;  but  at  the 
end  of  that  time  the  importunities  of  her  friends  prevailed, 
and,  with  many  tears  and  bitter  regrets,  she  parted  from  her 
guests.  Of  the  seven  men  she  had  sheltered,  six  died  on  the 
scaffold  ;  only  one,  Louvet,  lived  to  narrate  the  romantic 
history  of  his  misfortunes  and  escape.  "When  Guadet  was 
arrested  in  the  house  of  his  father,  Madame  Bouquey  be- 
came involved  in  his  ruin  and  that  of  his  family.  Indignant 
at  the  insulting  questions  of  the  president  of  the  tribunal 
before  which  she  appeared,  she  passionately  exclaimed  :  "  Yes, 
monsters  ! — Beasts  of  prey !  if  humanity,  if  family  affection 
deserve  punishment  in  your  opinion,  we  all  merit  death." 
The  generous  and  undaunted  woman  died  with  two  of  the 
men  she  had  endeavoured  to  save. 

When_ir i en d ship-^nd^juty  could  inspire  such  deep__and 
pgrilousjhjvolpdnpss  in  thprhpaSof^WrmraTipIove  and  conjugal 
affection  might  well  lead  her  to  brave  not  less  heroically  the 
anger  of  the  orjpressoj^-'  A  woman  of  Lyons,  heaxing_that 
her  husband~was  on  thfjoint  of  bfting  arrpgted,  prevailadaipon 


im,  oy  Eer~paisionate  entreaties,  to  effect  his  escape  whilst 
she remained,~cladin_his_attire;  to  tajgejiisjjlace^  A  Madame 
Lefort,  in  one  of^the  western  departments,  acted  with  like 
devotion.  The  representative  of  the  people,  discovering  the 
cheat  she  had  practised  upon  him,  turned  towards  her,  wrath- 
fully  exclaiming  :  "Woman!  what  have  you  done?"  "My 
duty — do  thine,"  was  her  brief  reply.  A  citizen  of  Eiom  was 
transferred  to  Paris  for  judgment,  and  consequently  for  con- 
demnation.    His  wife,  though  not  included  in  the  accusation 


DEVOTEDNESS  OF  WOMAN.  195 

against  hiin,  persisted  in  accompanying  him  :  they  were  both 
guillotined  together.  Another  lady,  not  being  allowed  by  the 
gaolers  to  go  with  her  husband  to  the  tribunal  whither  he 
was  summoned,  killed  herself  on  the  spot. 

In_  every  nmk_of_jife,  and  with  little  regard  to  political 
feelings,  women  adopted  the  most  ingenious  stratagems  to 
save  beloved  objects,  and  often  the  merest  strangers.  A 
prisoner  fell  ill,  and  was  sent  to  the  hospital  of  Bourdeaux. 
The  Sister  of  dlarrfy  whose  task  it  was  to  attend  upon  him 
beheld  him  with  interest,  and  sorrowfully  reflected  that  his 
recovery "would  only  be  the  signal  for  his  death.  Eesolved 
to  save  his  life,  even  at  the  risk  of  her  own,  she  bade  her 
patient,  who  was  nearly  well,  feign  convulsions,  and  then 
death.  He  obeyed ;  the  nun  hastily  threw  a  sheet  over  his 
face,  and,  when  the  doctor  came  to  pay  his  daily  visit,  in- 
formed him  that  the  patient  had  that  moment  expired.  He 
believed  her,  without  ascertaining  the  truth  of  her  assertion. 
In  the  evening  the  supposed  corpse  was  conveyed  to  the 
dissecting-room.  A  surgeon  in  the  confidence  of  the  Sister  of 
Charity  provided  the  prisoner  with  a  proper  disguise.  He  left 
the  hospital  undetected,  and  ere  long  gained  the  Spanish 
frontier.  His  disappearance  was  perceived  on  the  following 
day.  The  nun  was  questioned  and  confessed  the  truth.  Her 
candour  excited  so  much  admiration  and  surprise,  that  her  life 
was  spared.  It  is  also  true  that  the  Sisters  of  Charity  were 
found  so  necessary  in  the  hospitals  of  the  republic,  as  to  be 
seldom  molested,  even  when  they  refused  to  take  the  consti- 
tutional oath. 

M,  CaussjLjL_rich  merchant  of  Toulouse,  was  apprehended 
and  speedily  condemned  for  the  crime  of  being  oneof  the 
wealthiest  citizens  of  his  native  city.  The  day  being  far 
advanced  when  his  "sentence^ was  pronounced,  the  execution 
was  deferred  until  the  following  morning.  M.  Causse  had  a 
beautiful  mistress,  whom  he  had  formerly  loaded  witli  gifts. 
On  learning  his  condemnation,  she  sold  all  she  possessed  and 
bought  an  empty  house  adjoining  the  prison.  There,  in  that 
one  night,   with  the  help  of  a  faithful   female   servant,  she 


196  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

effected  an  opening  through  the  wall  to  the  cell  where  she 
knew  that  her  lover  was  confined.  The  prisons  were  badly 
guarded,  M.  Causse  seconded  her  efforts,  and  ere  long  he  stood, 
a  free  man,  in  the  empty  house  ;  where  he  found  a  military 
disguise,  provided  by  his  thoughtful  mistress.  Long  before 
his  escape  was  suspected,  he  had  reached,  with  her,  a  place  of 
security,  in  which  they  waited  the  close  of  the  Eeign  of 
Terror!- 

"^incidents  as  strange,  improbable,  and  romantic  as  those  of 
the  wildest  fiction  abounded  in  this  period  of  revolutionary 
history.  The  long  and  heroic  contests  of  the  Vendeans 
and  the  Chouans  against  the  whole  republic,  possess  the 
hazardous  adventure  and  tone  of  wild  daring  which  would 
have  delighted  a  Scott  or  a  Fenimore  Cooper ;  and  in  deeply 
thrilling  interest  they  might  indeed  well  bear  a  comparison 
with  the  wars  of  the  Puritans  and  Jacobites  of  Scotland,  or 
with  the  strange  and  varied  scenes,  stratagems,  and  chances  of 
Border  life,  and  hairbreadth  escapes  of  the  wild  Indian  war- 
fare.    Women  were  implicate  irf  this  memoiabk_striiggle, 

W  TOitli nnf,  foVinn-  in  if  a,  1r^ing__or  strikingjparL Those 

whose  feelings  and  affections — the  great  political  guidesof 
womeii— led  them  to  sympathlsT  witn~trie~Tendeans,  either 
perished  with  them  or  underwent  almost  unequalled  sufferings, 
endured  with  calm_and_lieroic  resignation.  It  js  possible, 
however,  that  theroyalist  ladies,  wholiave  left  such  interesting 
memoirs  jonthis"  remarkable  perJocTof  French  history,  might 
have  acted  a  far  morej^on^picuous  part  in  the  events  which 
tbftyli^rmTifiprFllie_great  movement,  though  headed  by  nobles, 
had-JiQiLbeen_essentially  a  popular  one  in  its  origin. 

La  Vendee  is  a  wide  and  secluded  district,  situated  in  the 
west  of  France,  bounded  by  the  Loire  on  one  side,  and  by  the 
Atlantic  Ocean  on  the  other.  The  chief  portion  of  this  tract 
of  land  is  known  by  the  name  of  Le  Bocage.  It  is  covered 
with  low  hills,  narrow  valleys,  and  innumerable  streams, 
which  traverse  it  in  every  direction.  These  streams,  the  chief 
paths  of  the  country,  are  generally  overhung  and  concealed 
with  the  low  trees  growing  on  their  banks  ;  this  peculiarity 


CHARACTER  OF  THE  VENDEANS.         197 

has  given  its  name  to  the  Bocage.  The  character  of  the 
Vendeans  is  simple,  honest,  truthful,  and  yet  reserved. 
"  Deeds,  not  words,"  was  their  practical  maxim :  no  men 
promised  less  and  effected  more.  They  were  a  hardy,  frugal 
race,  patient  though  energetic,  prejudiced,  deeply  religious, 
and  averse  to  change.  From  the  commencement  they  dis- 
liked  the  revolution.  Theyalready  enjoyed  as  much  freedom 
and  happiness  as  they  desired.  They  had  not  been  bowed 
do wn  by  ages  of  oppression  :  they  had  no  wrongs  to  avenge,  no 

brand  _of    slavery    to    effnce,    no    flimight.    of  pagt.    r>r    prpgpnt. 

abasement  to  awaken  glorious  aspirations  towards  liberty. 
They  cherished  the  feudal  system,  so  deeply  and  justly  ab- 
horred in  the  rest  of_FnmceJ__It  existed  with  them  in  all 
its  primitive  and  patriarchal  simplicity.  The  nobles  treated 
their  tenants  with  justice  and  kindness ;  the  clergy  were 
moral  and  pure.  Secluded  from  the  rest  of  France,  con- 
tented, though  ignorant  and  poor,  the  peasants  neither 
knew  nor  understood  the  deep  social  evils  which  had 
brought  on  the  revolution.  They  saw  with  abhorrence  and 
disgust  their  own  priests  expelled,  in  order  to  make  room  for 
the  constitutional  clergymen  ;  the  execution  of  the  king  and 
the  laws  of  conscription  added  to  their  indignation.  Exasper- 
ated at  the  thought  of  being  compelled  to  fight  for  a  cause 
they  hated,  they  rose  in  arms  to  fight — but  against  it.  They 
urged  their  landlords  to  lead  them  to  the  field.  The  nobles, 
though  they  hoped  nothing  from  this  partial  movement, 
thought  themselves  bound  in  honour  not  to  recede.  They 
joined  and  headed  the  insurrection.  It  soon  acquired  for- 
midable proportions,  and  at  one  time  threatened  the  existence 
of  the  republic  itself. 

The  women  of  La  Vendue  shared  in  all  the  religious 
enthusiasm  and  attachment  to  past  customs  which  had  armed 
their  brothers  and  husbands.  In  many  villages  they  kept 
guard  whilst  the  men  were  away  fighting ;  they  sometimes 
made  prisoners,  which  they  brought  in  triumph  to  the  com- 
manding officers.  Several  women  took  an  active  share  in 
this    eminently  national  struggle.      Two  sisters,  of  fourteen 


198  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

and  fifteen  years  of  age,  distinguished  themselves  by  their 
courage.  On  the  day  before  the  town  of  Thouars  was  taken 
by  the  Vendeans,  a  soldier  came  up  to  General  Lescure,  con- 
fided to  him  that  she  was  a  girl  in  man's  attire,  and,  asking 
him  for  a  pair  of  shoes,  assured  him  that  when  he  had  seen 
her  fight  on  the  following  day,  he  would  not  think  of  sending 
her  away.  She  kept  her  word,  and  fought  constantly  under 
the  eyes  of  M.  de  Lescure.  "  General,"  she  cried  out  to  him 
several  times  in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  "  you  shall  not  pass 
me.  I  shall  always  be  nearer  to  the  Blues  than  you  will." 
The  name  of  Blues  was  that  which  the  Vendeans  gave  to  the 
republicans ;  who  in  return  called  them  "  Brigands."  The  dar- 
ing girl  received  a  wound  in  the  hand,  but  she  merely  held 
it  up,  saying  to  the  general :  "  This  is  nothing."  Her  reckless- 
ness proved  fatal  to  her  :  dashing  forward  amongst  the  com- 
batants, she  perished  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight. 

Of  the  peasant  women  who  thus  took  up  arms,  only  one 
survived  the  civil  war  :  her  real  name  was  Jeanne  Bordereau; 
she  was  generally  called  IS  Angevin,  from  the  province  of 
Anjou,  whence  she  came.  She  fought  to  avenge  the  death  of 
her  father,  killed  by  the  republicans,  and  performed  prodigies 
of  daring  bravery.  Several  noble  and  royalist  ladies  displayed 
similar  heroism.  Madame  de  Beauglie,  attired  like  an 
amazon,  a  carabine  in  her  hand,  commanded  thirty  cavaliers, 
equipped  and  salaried  at  her  expense,  on  the  coast  of  La 
Vendee.  The  young  and  handsome  Madame  du  Fief,  distin- 
guished herself  in  the  army  of  Charrette  ;  who,  without  join- 
ing the  great  body  of  the  insurgents,  kept  up  a  brisk  and 
separate  warfare  on  the  sea-shore.  "  In  the  fight  of  La 
Baziliere,  1794,"  observes  a  historian  of  this  eventful  war, 
"Charrette  beheld  her,  with  surprise,  rush  on  the  foe,  and 
give  an  example  to  the  bravest."  Madame  du  Fief  survived 
the  war  in  which  she  had  taken  so  active  a  part,  and,  on  the 
restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  was  warmly  thanked  and  eulo- 
gised for  her  services  by  one  of  the  princes  of  the  blood 
Such  amazonian  ladies  ranked,  however,  among  the  exceptions 
to  the    general   rule.     The  Vendean   women   of  every  rank 


HEROIC  WOMEN  OP  LA  VENDEE.  199 

thought  far  more  of  giving  examples  of  courageous  patience, 
than  of  indulging  in  a  daring  heroism  foreign  to  their  nature, 
and  unsuited  to  their  physical  weakness.  The  pious  and 
truly  heroic  Mademoiselle  de  la  Eochefoucauld,  who  accom- 
panied her  father  in  the  army  of  Charrette,  and  in  that 
reckless  general's  most  perilous  expeditions,  kept  up  the 
courage  of  the  whole  army  by  her  unexampled  patience  and 
resignation.  The  memoirs  of  Madame  de  la  Bochejaquelein 
and  Madame  de  Bonchamps  shew  how  unremitting  and  severe 
were  the  sufferings  of  the  royalist  ladies. 

Besides  the  women  who  fought  in  the  army,  and  those 

who,  by  their  own  gentle  example,  exhorted  theirfijends  to 

"bear  everything  patiently,  there  was  a  third  class,  who,  if  they  - 

did  not  direct  military  ^eratiouM,  at  Irmt  ronnidrrnbly  nirlrrl 

the  counsels  of  the  Yendean  chiefs  by  their  arklress  and  devoted- 

ness]     Mademoiselle  Hamelin,  of  Bennes,  jxm&er.raterl  herself 

~to~the  perilous"~task  ofTavouring  the  royalist  correspondence. 

She  crossed  republican  posts  in  disguise,  procured  intelligence, 

carried  orders  througha  hostile  country  filled  with  spies,  and 

often  braved  the  dangers  of  a  long  journey  and  almost  certain 

^cieathj  nTorder  to  negotiate  for  the  Yendeaas-w-ith  the  English 

agents  on  the  coast. 

The  protracted  war  of   the  Chouans  in  Brittany,  although 
carried  on  later  and  somewhat  differently  from  that  of  La 
Vendee,  was  also  a  royalist   and  religious  struggle   against 
republican  principles.     It  was  first  organised  by  the  daring 
Marquis  de  la  Bouarie,  noted  for  his  profligacy,  his  duels,  and 
his   wild  adventures.       Accompanied    by  his   beautiful    and 
devoted  relative,  Therese  Moelien,  to  whom  he  was  himself 
ardently  attached,  he  went  all  over  Brittany,  braving  every 
danger,  in  order  to  establish  a  vast  and  secret  conspiracy.     The 
authorisation  given  by  the  Count  of  Artois  to  La  Bouarie  was 
carried  by  Therese,  sewed  in  her  riding-habit ;  and  it  is  said 
that,  by  her  eloquence  and  beauty,  she  won  not  a  few  parti- 
sans to  her  lover's  cause.     The  Marquis  dc  la  Bouarie  died 
before  his  project  could  be  carried  into  execution.     On  the  eve 
of  his  death  lie  Lrave  to  Therese  a  list  of  the  conspirators ;  she 


200  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

burned  it,  and  was  shortly  afterwards  executed,  with  a  whole 
family  who  had  buried  in  their  garden  important  papers 
relative  to  the  conspiracy. 

Though  thus  checked  in  its  commencement,  the  Chouan- 
nerie  subsequently  rallied,  and  emulated  the  daring  heroism, 
but  not  always  the  generosity,  of  the  Vendean  warfare. 
Though  prodigies  of  valour  were  performed  by  the  insurgent 
peasants,  and  though,  as  in  the  Combat  de  Dol,  women  often 
rallied  them  back  to  victory,  when  they  yielded  to  republican 
forces,  they  were  so  greatly  inferior  in  numbers  to  their 
opponents,  that  it  is  their  success,  and  not  the  defeat  by  which 
it  was  followed,  which  should  astonish.  The  consequences  of 
that  defeat  were  most  deplorable.  The  cruelties  of  the  repub- 
lican generals,  and  of  the  proconsuls  in  Brittany  and  in  La 
Vendee,  almost  surpass  belief.  Xeverjwa^jjujniiBity  so  deeply 
ou^a^edj_the_jnasgaorco  of  Lyono-dcuiotequal  the  noyades 
or  rl rn wmnrrg^  of  "NTn.nt.pg.  If  hundreds  were  immolated  by 
Fouche  and  Collot  d'Herbois,  thousands  perished  by  the  orders 
of  Carrier.  Women  and  children  were  shot  publicly.  The 
Vendean  General  d'Elbee  was  taken  by  the  republicans  during 
the  course  of  the  war.  His  wife  refused  to  leave  him  :  he 
was  shot  before  her  eyes  :  a  similar  fate  awaited  her  on  the 
following  day.  Difference  of  opinion  did  not  always  imply  a 
difference  of  fate.  The  republican  general  Quetineau  was 
obliged  to  surrender  to  the  Vendeans.  They  wanted  him  to 
join  their  cause  ;  he  refused,  and  requested  to  be  liberated  on 
parole,  in  order  to  justify  himself  from  the  imputation  of 
treachery  which  had  been  cast  upon  him.  The  Vendean 
generals  warned  Quetineau  of  the  danger  he  would  thus  incur ; 
but  his  wife,  who  preferred  her  husband's  honour  to  his  safety, 
induced  him  to  persist  in  his  resolve.  The  request  was 
granted  :  General  Quetineau  went  to  Paris,  and  was  con- 
demned to  death,  unheeded  and  unheard.  The  broken- 
hearted widow  asked  and  obtained  leave  to  share  his  fate. 

Although  they  chiefly  crmgis.tiCd  of  '•qinjjlicans,  the  inhabits. 
antg_2fj^:mtnr  rnffpmrl  .is  mnr.h  n,s  the  royalists,  Bretons,  and^_ 
Vendeajaa,  from  the  fury_and  cruelty  of  Carrier.     Their  devoted 


HEROIC  CONSTANCY  OF  WOMEN.  20 1 

city  became  the  theatre  of  the  most  fearful  and  revolting  exe- 
cutions. The  Vendean  peasants  of  both  sexes  met  death  with 
the  courageous  firmness  of  their  race.  The  women  seemed  to 
think  less  of  death  itself  than  of  the  means  of  dying  with 
decency :  a  consolation  not  often  granted  by  their  cynical 
tyrants.  They  generally  went  to  death  singing  an  old  tra- 
ditional hymn,  of  which  the  burden  was  that  "  those  who  die 
for  God  go  to  paradise."  The  calm  resignation  with  which 
these  victims  of  their  fervent  faith  suffered  martyrdom  was 
termed  fanaticism  by  their  irritated  oppressors.  It  was  "  fan- 
aticism" which  made  delicately-reared  women  walk  twelve 
leagues,  through  a  dreary,  marshy  country,  in  a  severe  winter, 
in  order  to  hear  mass  said  in  one  of  those  retired  places  where 
the  nonjuring  priests  had  taken  refuge  :  "  fanaticism"  which 
caused  Marie  Papin,  a  young  Vendean  peasant,  to  let  herself 
be  slowly  massacred  by  republican  soldiers,  sooner  than  reveal 
the  hiding-place  of  the  fugitive  "  brigands,"  to  whom  she  was 
taking  food  by  stealth !  Then,  thanks  to  Heaven,  such 
fanaticism  was  not  rare  :  heroism,  undaunted  courage,  and  the 
love  of  better  things  than  life  and  happiness,  were  not  found 
on  the  side  of  the  republic  alone.  Never  was  the  Catholic 
religion,  in  all  its  pomp  and  glory,  so  purely,  so  devoutly  fol- 
lowed as  when  obedience  to  its  laws  was  death  :  never  were 
the  holy  duties  of  hospitality  so  devotedly  performed  as  when 
discovery  would  have  doomed  both  host  and  guest  to  one 
inevitable  fate.  Those  who  talk  merely  of  the  debasing  power 
of  oppression,  know  not  how  it  can  elevate,  how  it  can  purify, 
the  noble  struggling  soul :  how  it  can  awaken  resistance,  stern, 
unyielding,  and  which  still  triumphs  over  chains  and  death, 
even  when  to  the  narrow-minded  it  seems  most  subdued.  If 
tyrants  knew  these  things,  they  might,  perchance,  seek  other 
methods  of  tyranny.  It  is  when  brute  force  seems  most 
strong  that  the  moral  power  of  the  weak  first  stands  revealed.  A 
nun  named  sister  Saint  Monica,  but  to  whom  the  poor  had  given 
the  name  of  their  "  mother,"  was  brought  before  one  of  the 
revolutionary  tribunals  in  the  west  of  France.  The  Reign  of 
Terror  was  at  its  height,  and  no  counsel  would  undertake  her 


202  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

defence.  "  Thou  must  be  very  guilty  indeed,"  said  the  Presi- 
dent, banteringly,  "  since  no  one  will  even  defend  thee."  "  If  I 
have  no  defender  on  earth,"  replied  the  gentle  nun,  looking 
upwards,  "  I  have  at  least  one  in  heaven."  At  the  foot  of  the 
guillotine  she  gave  to  a  few  poor  women,  who  followed  her 
weepingly,  all  the  garments  she  could  spare,  and  refused,  even 
under  the  knife,  to  save  her  life  by  taking  the  constitutional 
oath. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  enumerate  the  women  who,  through- 
out all  France,  braved  and  suffered  death,  for  having,  in  spite 
of  every  prohibition,  sheltered  or  assisted  the  proscribed  priests. 
Four  sisters  were  guillotined  together  at  Dijon  for  this  offence ; 
and  two  sisters,  Mademoiselles  Barberon,  schoolmistresses  at 
Orleans,  were  sent  to  Paris  for  trial,  with  the  priest  whom 
they  had  vainly  endeavoured  to  save.  They  both  went  to  the 
scaffold  glorying  in  their  action,  and  singing  in  a  loud  and 
clear  tone  the  96th  Psalm.  M.  Billiais,  his  wife  and  their  two 
daughters,  were  condemned  at  Nantes  for  a  similar  action. 
The  father  was  executed  in  January  1794,  Madame  and 
Mademoiselles  Billiais  were  not  guillotined  until  the  month  of 
March.  The  mother  walked  firmly  to  death  between  her  two 
daughters :  their  veils  were  thrown  back,  and  displayed  the 
calm  serenity  of  their  features.  One  of  the  two  maidens  was 
remarkably  beautiful.  A  republican  officer  beheld  her  on  the 
way  to  the  guillotine.  Filled  with  pity,  and  with  a  sudden 
feeling  of  love,  he  stepped  up  to  her,  and  offered  to  save  her 
life  if  she  would  become  his  wife.  She  refused,  preferring 
death  with  her  mother  and  her  sister.  The  three  women 
embraced  one  another  tenderly  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 
Fervent  maternal  affection  rising  with  the  dread  hour,  made 
Madame  Billiais  asked  to  be  the  last  guillotined,  in  order  that 
her  daughters  might  not  behold  her  death  !  Many  Vendean 
women  might  have  escaped  their  fate,  had  they  not  preferred 
death  to  dishonour.  The  noyades,  of  which  Carrier  had  bor- 
rowed the  idea  from  Nero,  consisted  in  having  a  certain  number 
of  victims  crowded  in  a  boat  furnished  with  a  large  trap.  On 
a  given  signal  the  trap  opened,  and  the  Loire  received  the  con- 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  CUISSARD.  203 

demned.     These  noyades  were  repeated  until  the  waters  of  the 
river  became  corrupted,  and  spread  pestilence  in  the  city. 
Madame  dc  Jourdain  and  her  three  daughters  were  taken,  with 
a  considerable  number  of  other  persons,  to  one  of  these  boats. 
The  beauty  of  one  of  the  three  girls  attracted  the  notice  of  a 
soldier,  who  offered  to  save  her  on  dishonourable  conditions. 
In  order  to  escape  his  pressing  solicitations,  she  threw  herself 
from  the  boat  into  the   river.     She  fell  on  a  heap  of  corpses, 
which  prevented  her  from  drowning.     She  called  out  for  aid, 
but  aid  to  die,  and  not  to  live.     "  Help  me,"  she  cried ;  "  I 
have  not  enough  water  !"     The  executioners,  who  were  always 
present  to  prevent  victims  from  escaping,  pushed  her  in  further 
to  a  deeper  spot. 

The  conduct  of  the  young  and  beautiful  Mademoiselle  de 
Cuissard,  who  was  led  to  death  with  an  old  female  relative, 
offers  another  remarkable  proof  of  female  purity  and  unselfish 
devotedness.  She  was  on  the  boat  at  Nantes  with  her  friend, 
both  patiently  awaiting  their  fate,  when  a  republican  officer,  en- 
amoured of  the  young  girl  whom  he  wished  to  save,  spent  three 
hours,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and  passionately  entreating  her  to 
give  him  the  power  of  delivering  her  by  becoming  his  wife. 
He  was  young,  handsome,  and  his  manners  and  feelings 
were  evidently  those  of  a  gentleman.  Moved,  in  spite  of 
herself,  at  his  persistency,  Mademoiselle  de  Cuissard  asked, 
"If  I  marry  you,  can  you  also  save  my  friend?"  "Alas!" 
sadly  replied  the  officer,  "  I  can  only  save  her  whom  I  shall 
marry."  "  Then,  farewell,"  replied  the  heroic  girl ;  and  from 
that  moment  all  his  entreaties  proved  vain  :  she  perished 
with  her  relative.  Instances  are,  however,  recorded  in  which, 
without  any  compromise  of  womanly  honour  or  dignity,  life 
was  preserved,  and  not  wantonly  sacrificed.  The  most  barbarous 
have  moments  of  shame  and  remorse. 

Deceived  by  a  false  amnesty  promised  to  the  Vendeans 
Agathe  de  la   Piochejacpielein  came  to   Nantes.     Instead  of 
thus  securing  her  freedom,  she  was  immediately  arrested  and 
taken  before  Lamberty,  the  friend  and  accomplice  of  Carrier. 
He  was   pleased  with   her  appearance.       "  Are   you  afraid, 


204  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

brigande  1 "  he  asked.  "  No,  general,"  she  replied.  "  Then 
when  you  feel  fear,  send  for  Lamberty."  "When  Agathe  appre- 
hended that  she  was  to  be  included  in  the  noyades,  she  accord- 
ingly sent  word  to  her  protector.  He  took  her  out  alone 
with  him  on  the  Loire  in  a  little  boat,  with  a  trap,  which  he 
had  obtained  from  Carrier  for  private  murders.  He  wished  to 
take  a  dishonourable  advantage  of  her  position,  and,  when  she 
refused  to  listen  to  him,  threatened  to  drown  her.  She  ran 
to  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  shewed  hirn  that  she  was  ready  to 
die.  Struck  with  admiration  at  her  courage,  Lamberty  ex- 
claimed :  "  Your  are  a  brave  girl !  I  will  save  you."  He 
accordingly  concealed  her  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  which  he 
hid  amongst  some  rushes  by  the  river  side.  For  eight  days 
and  nights  she  lay  there  unperceived,  but  daily  witnessing  the 
executions  of  the  condemned.  A  man  of  Nantes,  named 
Sulivan,  drew  her  from  this  perilous  hiding-place,  and  took 
her  home,  in  order  to  pacify  his  wife  by  saving  a  prisoner. 
This  man  had  betrayed  his  own  brother  to  the  republicans ; 
the  horror  his  wife  had  conceived  for  him  since  then  preyed 
upon  his  mind,  and  he  wished  to  appease  her,  and  expiate  his 
crime  by  performing  some  good  deed.  To  how  much  unknown 
good  did  the  gentle  and  purifying  influence  of  woman  lead  in 
those  evil  days  !  The  second  retreat  of  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Rochejaquelein  was  soon  discovered  ;  Lamberty  was  accused 
of  the  heinous  crime  of  saving  women  from  the  noyades,  and  a 
friend  of  his,  named  Robin,  took  out  Agathe  on  the  river,  in 
order  to  poniard  her.  She  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  the 
charm  of  a  pure,  winning  nature  again  prevailed.  Robin, 
instead  of  killing  her,  brought  her  back,  and  hid  her :  she 
was,  however,  again  detected  in  her  place  of  concealment, 
and  this  time  was  only  saved  by  the  close  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror. 

The  town  of  Arras,  then  under  the  dominion  of  an  apostate 
priest  named  Lebon,  beheld  scenes  as  fearful,  met  with  courage 
as  undaunted.  Lebon  converted  the  guillotine  into  a  perma- 
nent institution.  The  executioner  sat  at  his  table  and  shared 
his  orgies.     When  his  friend  was  engaged  in  the  duties  of  his 


CEUELTY  AND  TYEANNY  OF  LEBON.       205 

office,  Lebon  sat  on  a  balcony,  from  which  he  viewed  the 
executions  on  the  place  below,  whilst  a  band,  engaged  for  that 
purpose,  played  the  Marseillaise  or  Ca  Ira.  Lebon  frequently 
interrupted  the  executions,  in  order  to  prolong  the  tortures  of 
the  condemned,  by  reading  to  them  the  bulletin  of  the  victories 
gained  by  the  republican  armies.  He  did  so  once  when  two 
young  Englishwomen  were  ascending  the  scaffold.  "Aristo- 
crats like  you,"  said  he,  addressing  them,  "  must  hear  in  their 
last  moments  the  triumph  of  om  armies."  One  of  the  two 
ladies,  named  Madame  Plunkett,  turned  towards  him,  and 
exclaimed  indignantly  :  "  Monster !  we,  though  women,  shall 
die  courageously,  but  thou  shalt  die  like  a  coward."  The 
excess  of  tyranny,  in  which  Lebon  indulged  with  impunity* 
may  be  conjectured  from  the  following  circumstance  :  He  was 
coming  home  one  evening  along  the  silent  streets  of  Arras, 
reflecting  on  evil  news  he  had  received  from  the  army, 
when  he  heard  a  young  girl  singing  in  one  of  the  private 
houses.  Irritated  at  this  token  of  freedom  and  joy,  he  caused 
her  to  be  apprehended  and  sent  to  the  guillotine,  with  her 
mother,  on  the  following  day.  A  woman,  with  a  child  in  her 
arms,  saw  them  pass  on  to  death.  "  Thou  art  not  more  inno- 
cent than  that  poor  young  lady,"  said  she,  addressing  the  child, 
with  an  irresistible  burst  of  pity  and  indignation.  The  remark 
was  overheard,  and  reported  to  Lebon,  who,  without  further 
judgment,  sent  the  compassionate  woman  to  share  the  fate  of 
the  victim  she  had  so  imprudently  pitied. 

When  the  terror  reigned  thus  inexorably  in  the  provinces, 
it  may  be  imagined  that  it  did  not  spare  Paris  ;  the  seat  of 
that  dreadful  tyranny  which  threatened  to  lay  the  country 
waste,  and  consign  her  most  noble  and  most  gifted  children 
to  the  grave.  But  this  oppressive  power,  which  developed  so 
much  unsuspected  evil  in  the  human  heart,  also  brought  out 
the  latent  good.  Madame  le  Jay,  the  grasping  and  apparently 
selfish  mistress  of  Mirabeau,  devoted  herself  to  almost  certain 
death,  in  order  to  save  proscribed  men.  After  the  31st  of 
May,  Condorcet,  implicated  in  the  ruin  of  the  Girondists, 
found  an  asylum  in  the  house  of  an  obscure  widow  named 


206  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

Madame  Vernet.  Heremained  with  her  eight  months,  during 
which  his  kind  hostess  constantly  exerted  herself  to  divert  his 
mek^Gh-olyj-and^Sonietimes  playfully  addressed  him  in  little 
couplets,  in  which  she  exhoftecThim  to  bear  his  fate  patiently. 
"  I  have  never  written  any  verses,"  said~Tie~"ttr}ieT  one  day ; 
"  but  I  think  you  will  induce  me  to  make  the  attempt."  It 
was  whilst  residing  beneath  her  roof  that  he  composed  an 
epistle,  addressed  to  his  wife,  in  which  occur  the  two  fine 
lines  already  quoted.*  The  beautiful  Madame  de  Condorcet 
was  now  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  painting  the  portraits  of 
the  terrorists  in  order  to  obtain  a  livelihood.  It  was  only 
by  stealth  that  she  could  visit  her  husband  in  his  retreat. 
His  thoughts  and  feelings  were  almost  entirely  absorbed  by 
her  and  their  only  child,  a  little  girl  five  years  of  age.  The 
ardent  revolutionist  could  never  mention  the  names  of  his 
wife  and  daughter  without  shedding  tears.  In  the.  "  Avis  d'un 
Pere  Proscrit,"  which  he  addressed  to  his  daughter,  he  spoke 
to  her  with  great  tenderness  of  her  mother's  affection  and 
superior  mind. 

On  learning;  the  decree_QJLthe  Convention,  which  outlawed 
and  incTudecl  the  proscribed  and  those  who  gave  them  a  shelter 
irTthe  same  fate,  Condorcet  said  toTiisilosfess,  "  I  mustteavB 
you~7  were  1  discovered  here,  this  decree  would  place  you 
beyond  the~~paTe  of  tEe~law^  "±$ut  not  beyond  that  of 
humanity,"  replied  this  noble  and  undaunted  woman.  So 
urgent  was  she  in  her  entreaties  for  him  to  remain,  that  Con- 
dorcet was  obliged  to  escape  from  her  house  by  stealth.  He 
wandered  for  a  few  days  about  the  country,  but  was  soon  dis- 
covered and  imprisoned.  He  committed  suicide  with  poison, 
which  he  always  kept  about  him  for  that  purpose.  His  wife 
was  incarcerated  soon  after  his  death.  Her  first  task,  when 
the  terror  had  ceased,,  was  to  collect  and  publish  the  writings 
Condorcet  had  composed  during  his  seclusion.  She  sur- 
vived him  many  years,  living  in  poverty  and  retirement, 
and  faithful  to  the  last  to  the  republican  principles  of  her 
husband. 

*  Page  168. 


THE  HEROIC  CONDUCT  OF  WOMEN.  207 

It  was  this  devoted  zeal  of  woman  which  irritated  the 
tyrants  of  France,  because  it  every  day  snatched  new  victims 
from  their  grasp.  When  Louvet,  after  leaving  Madame  Bou- 
quey,  reached  Paris,  through  innumerable  perils,  he  was  saved 
from  certain  death  by  the  address  and  courage  of  the  beauti- 
ful Lodoiska,  who  afterwards  became  his  wife.  None  of  his 
friends  would  receive  him ;  he  had  no  papers,  no  passport,  no 
place  in  which  he  could  lie  concealed  ;  the  scaffold  seemed  his 
only  destiny.  Unaided,  but  supported  by  love,  Lodoiska 
built  him  a  hiding-place  in  a  remote  room,  and  so  skilfully 
executed  that  it  could  never  be  detected  by  mere  eyesight. 
Here,  thanks  to  that  asylum,  he  remained  undiscovered,  until 
a  favourable  opportunity  occurred  for  him  to  make  his  escape 
to  the  frontiers. 

"  When  the  proscribed  of  every  party  met  after  the  9th  of 
Thermidor,"  observes  Charles  de  Lacretelle,  "  the  name  of 
woman  was  covered  with  universal  benedictions." 

One  man  alone,  the  cold,  sceptical  ennuye  Saint-Lambert, 
seemed  to  dissent  from  this  general  praise.  Shortly  after  the 
cessation  of  the  terror,  he  read  to  a  circle  of  ladies  a  work  in 
which  he  dealt  somewhat  severely  with  their  sex.  They  re- 
minded him  of  all  that  woman  had  done  to  soften  the  Ecicrn 
of  Terror.  "  Well,  then,  mesdames,"  he  replied  with  a  sneer, 
"  I  shall  add  to  this  chapter  the  remark,  that  women  devoted 
themselves  when  it  was  the  fashion  to  do  so."  So  spoke,  in 
his  old  age,  the  man  who  had  been  loved  with  so  much 
fervour  and  constancy  by  Madame  du  Chatelet  and  Madame 
d'Houdetot. 

The  opinion  of  Louvet  on  this  subject  is  of  more  worth. 
He  had  tested  both  the  generosity  and  the  harshness  of 
woman.  If  Madame  Bouquey  had  sheltered  him,  another 
woman  (a  friend  of  Guadet,  by  whom  her  honour  and  fortune 
had  formerly  been  saved)  refused  him  a  glass  of  Mater  when 
he  sank  in  a  swoon  at  her  door.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
this,  it  is  thus  Louvet  speaks  :  "Amidst  all  this  degradation, 
it  is  consoling  to  declare,  that  even  in  France  there  still  exist 
lyings  worthy  of  liberty.     We  found  them  especially  amongst 


208  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

persons  of  that  sex  called  frivolous  and  timid.  It  was  from 
women  that  we  received  the  most  touching  attentions,  and 
that  courageous  aid  a  generous  compassion  knows  not  how  to 
refuse  to  unmerited  misfortunes." 

May  women  long  deserve  such  noble  praise  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WOMAN   IN   THE   PRISONS. 

Nevee,  perhaps,  did  the  capital  of  a  civilised  country  offer  a 
spectacle  like  that  which  the  prisons  of  Paris  presented  during 
the  Reign  of  Terror.  Whilst  fierce  and  fanatic  men,  often  re- 
pulsively coarse,  ruled  the  destinies  of  France,  individuals 
most  noble  by  birth,  distinguished  by  station,  or  eminent  by 
talent,  were  herded  together  in  prisons,  palaces,  and  private 
hotels,  and  thence  daily  sent  in  batches  (foumees)  to  the 
guillotine.  The  number  of  incarcerated  suspects  at  one  time 
amounted  to  11,400. 

Princes  of  the  blood,  generals,  statesmen,  orators,  handsome 
and  fashionable  ladies,  nuns,  men  of  letters,  priests,  actors, 
and  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  met  in  these  abodes  of  death, 
as  ardently  tenacious  of  former  passions  and  privileges  as  they 
were  carelessly  indifferent  to  the  present.  It  was  only  in  a 
few  external  circumstances  that  this  social  world  differed 
from  the  gay  and  frivolous  circles  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
"Women,  regaining  all  the  power  so  ruthlessly  broken  in  their 
hands  by  the  great  drama  of  the  revolution,  once  more  gave 
the  tone,  and  ruled  coteries.  The  mania  for  sentiment  had 
somewhat  gone  by  ;  brilliant  and  "miEti"  wit,  1it.pra.ry  r1igp11£- 
sious  and  Epicurean  philosophy,  recalled  the  palmy  days  and 
sway  of  MesdjmejTde  Tencin  and  du  JJefland.  _The  imprisoned 
aristocracy  ofFrance  laughed  at,  thp.  rpvnlnt.innnry  g^ffM^  -} 
aa^uhder  royal  rule7it_had  laughed  at  1p.tt.rpa  A*  rapist,  -.n(j 
the  Baatile:  it  trifled'with death,  as  it  was  its  wont  to  trifle 
with  everything :  the  same]darmg_^niLiriyx>lous  race- whom 
no  suffering  cojilfl  wind  tip,  or— render  grave.  There  was  in 
reality  as  much  pride  as  levity  in  this  careless  bearing  :  it 
VOL.  II.  O 


210  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

was  the  last  haughty  defiance  of  the  conquered  noble  to  his 
plebeian  oppressor  •  and  more  plainly  than  with  words  did  it 
to  the  exasperated  terrorists  seem  to  say,  "  Send  us  to  death : 
do  your  worst;  we  can  still  brave  both  your  power  and  you." 

Certain  knowledge  of  the  fate  to  which  the  suspects  were 
doomed,  their  great  number,  the  difficulty  of  escape,  and  the 
rare  instances  in  which  it  was  attempted  by  captives  to  whom 
France  had  become  a  vast  prison-house,  rendered  the  gaolers 
easy  and  tolerant.      The  prisoners  were  permitted  to  meet 
freely,  and  to   regulate  their  amusements  and  occupations. 
They  generally  elected  presidents,  who  distributed  the  daily 
tasks,  and  saw  that  they  were  properly  performed.     Some  lit 
the  fires,  others  swept  the  rooms  and  made  the  beds ;  a  few 
prepared  their  own  food  :  the  wealthy  had  their  meals  brought 
in  to  them  from  their  houses,  or  sent  in  by  a  restaurateur  • 
and  large  sums  were  spent  by  the  captives  in  procuring  for 
themselves  the  delicacies  of  the  season.     The  poor  were  gene- 
rally fed  at  the  expense  of  their  richer  companions  :  the  gaolers 
recommended  needy  sans-culottes  to  the  care  of  opulent  aristo- 
crats, who  generously  provided  for  them.     The  wealth  of  a 
ci-devant  was  thus  ascertained  by  the  number  of  prisoners  he 
maintained ;  and  as  much  pride  was  displayed  in  this  singular 
luxury  as  had  been  shewn  in  the  laqueys,  horses,  and  mistresses 
a  noble  formerly  kept,  chiefly  for  purposes  of  ostentation.    The 
same  spirit  which  had  governed  the  saloons  of  the  old  regime 
ruled  in  the  prisons  of  the  new  one.     Aristocratic  distinctions 
were  rigorously  kept  up.     The  nobles  addressed  one  another 
by  their  respective  titles  :  unless  in  the  presence  of  the  gaolers, 
when  they  took  care  to  use  the  consecrated  terms  of  citoyen 
and  citoyenne.     They  formed  circles,  from  which  the  roturiers, 
with  whom  they  might  the  very  next  day  ascend  the  guillotine, 
were  sedulously  excluded.     All  the  formalities  of  good  breed- 
ing were  carefully  preserved  :  gentlemen  gave  up  their  seats, 
of  which  there  was  a  scarcity,  to  the  ladies,  and  stood,  enter- 
taining them  gallantly ;  polite  invitations  to  dinner  were  sent 
from  Corridor  Friinaire  to  Corridor  Floreal. 

There  was  even  no  dearth  of  amusements  in  this  strange 


LIFE  IN  THE  PRISONS.  211 

world.  It  was  generally  in  the  afternoon  that  the  prisoners 
met;  when  the  court-yards  of  the  Luxembourg,  of  Saint- 
Lazare,  and  several  other  prisons,  exhibited  almost  as  much 
gaiety  as  the  most  fashionable  places  of  Parisian  resort.  In 
the  palace  of  the  Luxembourg,  then  converted  into  a  prison, 
the  captives  often  assembled  in  an  antechamber  commanding  a 
view  of  the  fine  gardens  below,  where  there  friends  and  rela- 
tives daily  gathered  to  obtain  a  distant  glimpse  of  those  they 
loved.  The  severity  of  the  sentinels  generally  deprived  the 
prisoners  of  this  consolation ,  but  grief  or  care  had  little 
power  over  this  light-hearted  race.  The  scene  in  the  ante- 
chamber was  animated  and  gay :  ladies  brought  their  work, 
old  nobles  sat  apart  in  earnest  conversation,  while  the  young 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  or  gathered  into  laughing 
groups.  At  one  end  of  the  gallery  three  chairs  were  disposed 
so  as  to  represent  a  guillotine  ;  this  was  a  game  invented  by 
the  ladies  of  the  Luxembourg.  Surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
spectators,  who  blamed  or  applauded  them  according  to  their 
success,  they  imitated  faithfully  the  last  moments  of  the  con- 
demned; and,  like  the  Eoman  gladiators,  thus  studied  how 
to  die  gracefully.  A  similar  game  was  invented  and  followed 
by  the  Girondists  in  the  Concicrgerie. 

These  images  of  death  seemed  to  enhance  the  brief  plea- 
sures of  the  captives  :  it  was  because  they  were  to  die  that 
they  would  enjoy  existence  to  the  last.  Never  were  the  vol- 
uptuous precepts  of  Horace  more  faithfully  obeyed  :  the  mock 
guillotine  threw  no  damp  on  the  mirthful  scene  around.  Ap- 
pointments were  made  for  music  and  card-parties  in  the  even- 
ing, for  lectures  on  astronomy,  chemistry,  and  other  sciences, 
to  be  delivered  by  captive  savants,  or  for  literary  readings, 
epigrams,  boutsrimes,  and  acted  charades.  The  ladies  dressed 
for  these  soirees  as  carefully  as  their  reduced  wardrobes  al- 
lowed, the  gentlemen  were  assiduous  and  polite ;  open  flirta- 
tions were  carried  on,  and  sincere  affections  often  sprang  up 
in  these  dens  of  terror.  Sonic  of  the  ladies,  who  had  for- 
merly ruled  the  gay  world,  now  jwayed  in  a  prison  their  light 
BfPpTrn      Fy^d  ATndame  de  Condorcct,  in  widow's  weeds,  cared 


212  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

Httle  for  her  former  power j_but  the  witty  and  caustic  Madame 
de  Coigny,  the  foe  of  Cardinal  de  Brienne  and  Marie  Antoin- 
ette, failed  not  to  exercise  her  capricious  rule  in  Saint-Lazare. 
Near  her  appeared  her  daughter,  whose  grace  and  loveliness 
inspired  the  poet  Andre  Chenier  with  a  fervent  passion, 
which  he  expressed  in  the  exquisite  verses  entitled  "La 
Jeune  Captive."  He  perished  the  day  before  the  fall  of 
Robespierre;  Mademoiselle  de  Coigny  survived  the  Reign 
of  Terror. 

The  deaths  of  those  around  them  interfered  little  with  the 
pleasures~of  the  prisoners';  they  were  not  selfishly  indifferent ; 
they  only  knew  that  their  own  tumwouTd  soon' come:  that 
to-bg^gmllotined  was  the  common  fate.  Without  this  seem- 
ingly reckless  spirit,  how  could  they  haVe  endured  the  hours 
of  their  captivity — for  horrible  it  was  in  reality — beheld  their 
friends  and  relatives  daily  torn  from  them  to  be  led  to  death, 
and  yet  have  lived  on  and  betrayed  no  weakness  1  It  was 
generally  when  the  prisoners  were  assembled  together,  when 
the  scene  of  gaiety  was  at  its  height,  when  projects  were 
making  for  the  morrow,  and  the  love  of  a  day  was  being  in- 
dulged, that  some  drunken  gaoler  came  to  read  the  long  list 
of  victims.  A  deep,  hushed  silence  immediately  prevailed  :  it 
seemed  as  though,  on  the  approach  of  this  herald  of  death, 
the  breathing  of  life  had  suddenly  become  suspended.  As  he 
slowly  spelled  over  every  name,  those  who  were  thus  sum- 
moned to  trial — and  they  knew  that  trial  signified  death — 
calmly  bade  their  friends  farewell,  and  came  forward.  Others 
immediately  took  their  places  in  the  game  or  conversation  left 
unfinished  by  their  departure.  A  few  delayed  in  order  to 
write,  on  the  table  where  they  had  partaken  of  their  last 
repast,  some  poetical  adieu.  The  most  beautiful  and  touching 
of  these  effusions  is  that  which  the  poet  Roucher,  the  beloved 
friend  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lespinasse,  addressed  to  his  wife 
and  children,  on  sending  them  his  portrait  drawn  by  a  fellow- 
prisoner — 

"  Ne  vous  etonnez  point,  objets  cheris  et  doux, 
Si  quelque  air  de  tristesse  obscurcit  mon  visage  ; 


FEMALE  HEROISM.  213 

Lorsqu'une  main  savante  dessina  cette  image, 
L'^chafaud  m'attendait,  et  je  songeais  a  vous." 

The  ignorance  of  the  gaolers,  the  indifference,  and  often  the 
generosity  of  the  prisoners,  led  to  constant  mistakes  of  identity. 
A  young  man  of  twenty  was  guillotined  "  for  having  a  son 
among  the  emigres."  The  old  dowager  Duchess  of  Biron, 
and  her  daughter-in-law,  the  widow  of  the  duke,  formerly 
Count  of  Lauzun,  and  who  has  already  been  introduced  in 
these  pages  as  the  Countess  Amelie,  perished  instead  of  their 
steward.  The  two  ladies  were  confined  together  in  the  Lux- 
embourg ;  the  gaoler  received  a  list  containing  the  name  of 
Biron  :  "  But  there  are  two  of  them,"  said  he  to  the  gendarme 
waiting  with  the  cart.  "  Then  bring  them  both."  The  list 
had  come  at  a  later  hour  than  usual ;  the  old  marechale  was 
at  supper ;  she  calmly  concluded  her  meal  whilst  the  other 
prisoners  were  preparing ;  when  all  was  ready,  she  took  up 
her  book  of  devotion,  and  departed  cheerfully,  She  was 
guillotined  with  her  daughter-in-law  the  next  day.  A  similar 
error  gave  the  Countess  of  Maille  an  opportunity  of  displaying 
her  nobleness  of  mind.  On  hearing  the  name  of  Maille  called 
out  by  the  gaoler,  she  stepped  forth  from  the  ranks  of  the 
prisoners,  but  observed,  that  though  the  surname  which  had 
been  read  was  hers,  the  Christian  name  prefixed  to  it  was  not. 
She  was  asked  to  designate  the  person  to  whom  it  referred ; 
silence  was  her  only  reply.  On  being  pressed  to  say,  at  least, 
where  that  person — her  sister-in-law — might  be  found,  she 
answered,  "  I  do  not  desire  death,  but  I  prefer  it  a  thousand 
times  to  the  shame  of  saving  myself  at  the  expense  of  another. 
I  am  ready  to  follow  you."  Struck  with  her  magnanimity, 
the  commissary  who  had  come  to  fetch  the  prisoners  away, 
spared  her.     This  forbearance  saved  her  life. 

When  gaolers,  gendarmes,  and  prisoners,  all  were  gone,  when 
the  rolling  of  the  cart  which  bore  the  latter  to  death  had  sub- 
sided in  the  distance,  the  prisoners  recovered  from  their 
momentary  gravity.  The  light  jest,  the  caustic  repartee,  the 
gay  trifling  were  resumed,  and  the  hum  of  conversation  once 
more  filled  the  hall,  or  the  courtyard,  whichever  it  might  be. 


214  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

Few  regrets  were  given  to  the  departed ;  those  who  had  been 
spared  to-day  knew  not  whether  their  hour  might  not  come  on 
the  morrow.  After  the  introduction  of  the  republican  calen- 
dar, the  tenth  of  every  decade  was  consecrated  to  repose : 
no  trials  or  executions  took  place  on  Decadi.  When  the 
prisoners,  therefore,  reached  the  day  on  which  even  the  guil- 
lotine rested,  they  knew  that  they  had  at  least  twenty-four 
hours  more  to  live.  Years  of  life  were  never  hailed  with  more 
joy  than  was  this  brief  respite  :  throughout  all  the  prisons  of 
Paris,  Decadi  was  kept  as  a  day  of  festivity  and  gladness,  as 
another  resting-place  between  life  and  the  scaffold. 

At  no  epoch,  during  the  whole  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
was  female  influence  so  clearly  displayed,  as  at  this  period  in 
the  prisons,  and  over  the  aspect  of  prison  life.  The  levity, 
the  recklessness,  the  aim  at  effect,  the  heroism  with  which  the 
prisoners  met  their  fate,  were  not  only  distinctive  attributes  of 
the  national  character,  but  also  traits  strongly  illustrating  the 
influence  which  woman  had  ever  exercised,  and  which  she 
possessed  over  it  still.  This  power  was,  as  formerly,  one  of 
mingled  good  and  evil :  if  it  often  led  men  to  meet  death  with 
unbecoming  levity,  it  also  made  them  encounter  it  in  a  brave 
and  undaunted  mood.  The  peculiar  heroism  of  woman — 
endurance — seemed  imparted  by  her  to  all  those  near  whom 
she  came.  This  courage  was  at  the  same  time  theatrical  and 
sincere.  Women  who  asked  Fouquier  Tinville  for  death,  pro- 
vided themselves  with  rouge,  in  order  not  to  look  pale  on 
the  scaffold :  this  precaution  was  often  adopted  by  prisoners 
of  both  sexes.  Other  ladies  kept  awake  at  night,  lest,  in  case 
they  were  suddenly  called  to  trial,  they  should  betray  any 
weakness.  To  suffer  with  true,  calm  courage  was  not  enough  : 
there  was  scorn  of  tricotteuses,  and  insulting  Jacobins  to 
brave,  on  the  way  to  the  guillotine  ;  inquiring  looks  of  fellow- 
prisoners  to  meet ;  a  part  to  act  before  all. 

This  haughty  levity  was  not,  however,  the  only  feature  of 
female  influence  in  the  prisons.  Many  pure-minded  women, 
who  had  kept  themselves  free  from  the  corruption  of  the  age, 
had  found  in  holy  knowledge  truer  lessons  of  death  than  those 


THE  POWER  OF  CHRISTIANITY.  215 

to  be  derived  from  the  game  of  the  guillotine.  Calm,  resigned, 
affecting  not  more  courage  than  their  hearts  could  feel,  they 
awed  even  professed  sceptics  into  veneration.  With  words  of 
gentle  and  eloquent  persuasion,  the  widow  of  the  Count  of 
Clermont  Tonnere  subdued  the  proud  spirit  of  the  philosopher 
La  Harpe.  Convinced  by  her  arguments  and  example,  he 
became  a  fervent  and  sincere  Christian ;  remaining  so  until 
his  death,  which  did  not  occur  until  several  years  afterwards. 
The  young  and  pious  Countess  of  Noailles  was  generally  called 
the  angel  of  the  prison.  None  of  her  fellow-captives  could 
behold  or  approach  her  without  emotion  and  respect.  In  her 
deep  humility,  she  saw  nothing  of  this.  She  was  tried  and 
condemned.  Some  one  urged  her  to  take  some  repose.  "  How 
can  one  sleep  on  the  eve  of  eternity  V  she  replied.  And  she 
spent  in  vigil  and  prayer  the  last  night  of  a  life  as  pure  as 
it  had  been  brief.  Whilst  the  worldly-minded  gave  them- 
selves up  to  whatever  dissipation  their  gloomy  place  of  so- 
journ could  afford,  the  piously-inclined  assembled  apart  to 
pray.  It  was  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  the  hour  of  the  execu- 
tions, that  they  met  together  to  read  the  solemn  prayers  for 
the  dying.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  they  met  again  to 
pray  for  the  souls  of  the  dead,  according  to  the  ritual  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  Youths  and  maidens  scarcely  beyond 
childhood  knelt  there  by  the  side  of  gray-headed  old  age, 
listening  silently  to  the  exhortation  of  the  priest — some  doomed 
captive  like  them — and  who,  whilst  reminding  them  of  those 
that  were  gone,  failed  not  to  bid  them  prepare  for  their  own 
approaching  fate.  These  religious  rites,  strictly  forbidden  to 
the  free,  were  not  interdicted  by  the  gaolers  to  their  captives. 
"  We  let  him  live,"  said  Fouquier  Tinville  of  the  Abbe  Emery, 
incarcerated  in  the  Conciergerie,  "  because,  by  his  gentleness 
and  good  advice,  he  checks  more  murmurs  and  more  tumult 
in  our  prisons,  than  we  could  with  the  help  of  the  gendarmes 
and  the  guillotine." 

Thus,  some  with  reckless  levity,  others  with  religious  resig- 
nation, but  all  with  courage,  met  their  fate.  The  heroism  of 
the  women  is  universally  acknowledged  to  have  surpassed  that 


216  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

of  the  men.  The  levity  to  which  we  have  alluded  did  not 
exclude  the  highest  and  most  noble  qualities.  Of  all  the 
women  who  perished  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  one  only, 
Madame  du  Barry,  knew  not  how  to  die  courageously.  She 
was  safe  in  England,  assisting  the  emigrated  nobles,  when  she 
resolved  to  return  to  France,  to  possess  herself  of  the  treasures 
she  had  hidden  at  Luciennes ;  without  which  she  could  not 
continue  her  generous  task.  She  came,  was  betrayed  by  her 
favourite  negro  Zamore,  taken  before  the  tribunal,  and  con- 
demned. Horror-struck  at  her  fate,  she  wept  bitterly  on  go- 
ing to  the  guillotine,  and  passionately  entreated  the  people  to 
save  her.  Heedless  of  the  example  and  remonstrances  of  those 
who  were  going  to  die  with  her,  she  continued  to  wring  her 
hands  and  to  bewail  her  fate  ;  she  struggled  with  the  execu- 
tioner on  reaching  the  scaffold,  and  filled  the  whole  Place  de 
la  Kevolution  with  agonising  shrieks. 

Would  that  many  had  died  thus :  would  that  the  scaffold 
had  not  become  a  stage  for  victims  to  perish  with  courage  so 
silent  and  so  stern,  that  the  crowd  below  saw  not  the  horror 
of  their  fate.  If  tears  and  lamentations,  like  those  of  this 
weak  woman,  had  come  from  the  carts  which  daily  rolled  along 
the  streets,  bearing  their  load  of  victims  :  if  shrieks  and  cries 
for  mercy  like  hers  had  resounded  from  the  scaffold,  then  the 
terror  would  have  been  known  for  what  it  was, — a  butchery : 
then  it  would  not,  it  could  not,  have  endured  so  long.  But 
there  seemed  to  exist  a  secret  struggle  between  the  crowd  and 
the  condemned,  as  to  who  should  be  more  relentless,  and  who 
more  defying  :  beings  most  opposed  in  feeling  and  opinions, 
united  all  in  the  same  instinctive  and  unbending  contempt  of 
death  and  their  oppressors. 

Nothing  is  more  characteristic,  in  the  aspect  of  the  prisons 
of  this  period,  than  the  rapid  succession  in  which  individuals 
of  every  rank  of  life,  and  every  political  creed,  passed  through 
them  on  their  brief  journey :  all  tending  to  the  same  bourne — 
the  scaffold. 

Two  days  after  the  execution  of  Madame  Roland,  Olympe 
de  Gonges — a  woman  far  inferior  to  her  in  character  and 


OLYMPE  DE  GONGES.  217 

talent,  bat  not  without  some  political  and  literary  notoriety — 
like  her,  left  the  Conciergerie  for  the  guillotine.     At  the  age 
of  thirty-eight,  when  her  beauty  and  the  successes  it  had  pro- 
cured for  her  were  both  gone,  Olympe  de  Gonges  took  the 
title  of  "  woman  of  letters;'  and  published  several  dramatic 
and  political  works.      Seized  with  what  may  be  called  the 
revolutionary  fever  of  the  times,  she  covered  the  walls  of 
Paris  with  ajfiches  signed   with  her  name.     It  is  asserted, 
though  the  fact  may  well  be  doubted,  that  Olympe  was   so 
illiterate  as  not  to  know  even  how  to  read,  and  to  be  compelled 
to  dictate  her  compositions  to  various  secretaries.     Her  writ- 
ings bear  traces   of  a  facility  bordering  on  improvisation. 
Bursts  of  real  eloquence  are  disfigured  by  evident  want  of 
taste,  extravagance,  and  absurdity;  but  many  of  her  reflec- 
tions are  just  and  sound,  and  shew  both  originality  and  power. 
She  wrote  on  almost  every  subject ;  chiefly  on  the  emancipa- 
tion and  political  rights  of  women.     Her  views  on  the  great 
events  passing  before  her  changed  constantly.     She  violently 
opposed  the  king,  and  when  he  was  brought  to  trial  had  the 
courage  to  propose  to  defend  him  :  a  task  which  fear  had  in- 
duced the  celebrated  counsel  Target  to  decline.     After  the 
death  of  Louis  XVI.,  Olympe  de  Gonges  attached  herself  to 
the  Girondists :  the  fall  of  this  party  exasperated  her,  and  she 
attacked  Marat,  Robespierre,  and  the  Jacobins,  in  the  most 
daring  manner.     She  was  immediately  arrested,  and  tried  by 
the  revolutionary  tribunal.     She  defended  herself  with  courage 
and  dignity;  but  on  hearing  the  verdict  of  the  jury  against 
her,  her  fortitude  seemed  to  desert  her,  and  she  said,  "  My 
enemies  shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  blood  shed : 
I  am  with  child,  and  shall  give  a  citoyen  or  citoyenne  to  the 
republic."      This  assertion  was  disbelieved  at  the  time,  and 
was  ascertained  to  be  false.     On  learning  that  her  sentence 
would  be  carried  into  execution,  Olympe  recovered  her  firm- 
ness :  "  Children  of  the  fatherland,"  said  she,  from  the  guillo- 
tine to  the  crowd  below,  "you  will  avenge  my  death." 

Madame  Roland  and  Olympe  de  Gonges  were  not  solitary 
instances  of  women  who  perished,  though  noted  for  their  at- 


218  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

tachment  to  the  revolutionary  principles.  The  amiable  Ma- 
dame Laviolette  had  not  only  embraced  with  passionate  ardour 
the  doctrines  of  an  era  •which  she  considered  one  of  freedom 
and  happiness  for  humanity,  but  she  also  devoted  herself  to 
the  care  of  the  soldiers  wounded  in  defending  the  frontiers  of 
France.  Falsely  accused — for  what  motive  is  not  known — by 
her  husband,  she  was  brought  before  the  tribunal  of  Paris,  and 
soon  condemned  to  death.  She  heard  her  sentence  with  feel- 
ings of  relief  :  the  bitter  deceptions  of  her  brief  existence  had 
rendered  it  odious  to  her.  Calling  one  of  the  prisoners  to  her 
window,  she  said  to  him,  on  the  evening  of  her  condemnation : 
"Look  at  me;  I  am  calm.  Assure  your  friends  that  I  shall 
die  worthy  of  them." 

Victims  more  touching  than  those  of  political  opinion  were 
frequently  incarcerated  for  some  generous  deed  or  act  of 
womanly  love.  When  old  General  Custine  appeared  before 
the  tribunal,  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  might  be  seen  sit- 
ting at  his  feet,  sustaining  his  courage,  and,  by  her  calm 
devotedness,  softening  even  the  judges  of  that  tribunal  of 
blood.  This  lady  was  Madame  de  Custine,  daughter-in-law  of 
the  general ;  by  whom  she  had  often  been  harshly  treated  in 
the  days  of  his  prosperity.  The  threats  of  those  who  had  re- 
solved upon  the  death  of  the  general,  and  who  dreaded  her 
influence,  could  not  terrify  her  away.  All  her  spare  time  was 
spent  in  visiting  and  soliciting  the  members  of  the  tribunal 
and  of  the  committee  of  public  safety.  Her  ardent  zeal  and 
presence  of  mind  would  have  secured  her  father-in-law's  ac- 
quittal, if  it  had  then  been  possible  for  a  man  once  accused 
not  to  be  condemned.  Madame  de  Custine  was  veiy  nearly 
meeting  the  fate  of  Madame  de  Lamballe,  on  the  spot  where 
that  unfortunate  princess  had  perished.  She  had  left  the  hall 
where  the  trial  of  her  relative  took  place,  and  was  descending 
alone  the  steps  of  La  Force ;  a  silent  crowd,  of  menacing  aspect, 
gradually  closed  around  her ;  an  exclamation,  or  even  a  token 
of  fear,  and  she  was  lost :  she  bit  her  lips  until  the  blood  came, 
in  order  to  prevent  herself  from  turning  pale.  In  her  path 
was  a  hideous  poissarde,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms  :  Madame 


INSTANCES  OF  JACOBIN  GENEROSITY.  219 

de  Custine  paused  and  admired  it.  The  woman  understood 
her:  "Take  it,"  said  she,  presenting  the  child;  "you  -will  give 
it  back  to  me  below."  Madame  de  Custine  obeyed,  and,  pro- 
tected by  that  shield,  descended  the  steps  in  safety :  when  she 
had  reached  the  street,  she  returned  the  child  to  its  mother, 
without  daring  to  murmur  thanks,  which  might  have  been 
dangerous  to  both. 

The  condemnation  and  death  of  her  father-in-law  were  not 
the  last  trials  of  this  devoted  woman.  Her  husband  was  soon 
afterwards  thrown  into  prison.  Hopeless  of  an  acquittal,  she 
planned  his  escape.  For  the  sum  of  thirty  thousand  francs 
in  gold,  and  a  pension  of  two  thousand  livres,  a  daughter  of 
the  gaoler,  named  Louise,  was  to  let  the  prisoner  escape. 
Their  measures  were  all  taken,  when  M.  de  Custine  learned 
that  Louise,  by  thus  aiding  him,  would  incur  the  penalty  of 
death.  From  that  moment  nothing  could  induce  him  to  ac- 
cede to  the  proposed  plan.  His  wife  wept  and  entreated  him 
in  vain.  Louise  knelt  at  his  feet,  offering  to  give  up  the  reward 
and  follow  him  and  Madame  de  Custine  wherever  they  went; 
he  remained  inflexible,  still  preferring  death  to  the  shame  of 
saving  his  life  at  the  expense  of  another.  Scarcely  had  Madame 
de  Custine  become  a  widow,  when  she  was  in  her  turn  thrown 
into  prison;  but  her  beauty,  her  devotedness,  and  her  misfor- 
tunes had  given  her  a  friend  in  one  of  the  Jacobins  who  hap- 
pened to  be  brought  into  contact  with  her.  A  mason  named 
Jerome  resolved  to  save  her.  He  had  free  access  to  Fouquier 
Tinville's  office.  Every  day  for  six  months  he  failed  not  once 
to  place  her  act  of  accusation  the  last  on  the  list.  He  thus 
saved  her  life.  After  the  fall  of  Eobespierre,  Jerome  was  com- 
pelled to  hide,  and  Madame  de  Custine  was  set  at  liberty.  She 
fell  ill,  and  Jerome,  who  knew  it,  sent  her  servant  money  where- 
with to  support  her  mistress  and  her  child.  Events  subse- 
quently enabled  Madame  de  Custine  to  favour  the  escape  of 
her  benefactor  from  the  kingdom. 

Such  instances  of  generosity  or  kindness  from  the  terrorists 
were  by  no  means  rare  The  author  Bitanb6  was  treated  with 
some  leniency  in  his  prison  because  one  of  the  turnkeys,  who 


220  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

daily  sent  to  the  scaffold  the  prisoners  he  disliked,  had  read 
his  tale  of  Joseph,  which  he  said  "  made  him  weep."  As  the 
Eeign  of  Terror  progressed,  even  the  men  by  whom  it  had 
been  established  began  to  look  upon  their  work  with  dread 
and  horror.  The  executions  daily  assumed  a  more  revolting 
character.  Fourteen  young  girls,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  not 
eighteen  years  of  age,  were  sent  to  the  scaffold  at  once.  Their 
crime  was  having  assisted  at  a  ball  given  by  their  parents, 
the  chief  inhabitants  of  the  town,  when  Verdun  surrendered 
to  the  Prussians.  For  this  the  tribunal  of  Paris  condemned 
them  to  die.  They  were  incarcerated  in  the  Conciergerie, 
where  their  youth  and  modest  beauty  interested  all  the  other 
prisoners  in  their  favour.  The  manner  in  which  they  spent 
the  last  day  of  their  life  confirms  a  remark  applicable  to  the 
whole  female  sex ;  who,  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  thought 
far  less  of  their  fate  than  of  the  means  by  which  it  might  be 
met  with  decency.  Guided  by  this  "  ruling  passion  strong  in 
death,"  the  maidens  of  Verdun,  on  the  eve  of  their  execution, 
calmly  prepared  their  garments  for  the  morrow,  so  that  they 
might  be  spared  a  blush  even  on  the  scaffold.  They  were 
conveyed  all  in  one  cart  to  the  guillotine.  A  murmur  of  pity 
arose  in  the  crowd  as  they  passed  through  it,  modest  and 
beautiful  in  their  white  garments,  as  if  attired  for  a  festival. 
They  died  with  a  serenity  more  touching  than  the  sternest 
courage.  The  execution  of  these  innocent  victims  created  a 
deep  feeling  of  horror  in  the  prison  they  had  left.  "  On  the 
day  which  followed  their  death,"  observes  the  prisoner  Riouffe, 
"  the  court  of  the  women  looked  like  a  garden  which  a  storm 
has  bereft  of  its  fairest  flowers." 

To  a  woman,  pure,  beautiful,  and  courageous,  belongs  the 
honour  of  the  first  protest  raised  against  this  infamous  tyranny. 
The  handsome  and  eloquent  Lucile  Duplessis  poured  into  the 
soul  of  her  husband,  Camille  Desmoulins,  the  fervent  sympathy 
with  the  oppressed,  and  the  hatred  of  their  tyrants,  which 
burned  in  her  own.  It  was  to  the  wife  whom  he  so  tenderly 
loved  that  Camille  owed  death,  and  a  fame  more  pure 
than  he  had  vet  won.     Guilty  of  having,  in  the  eloquent  pages 


LUCILE  DESMOULINS.  221 

of  the  Vieux  Cordelier,  proposed  the  substitution  of  a  tri- 
bunal of  clemency  for  one  of  blood,  he  was  sent  to  the  Lux- 
embourg, to  share  the  fate  of  those  he  had  wished  to  save.  On 
entering  his  prison,  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  die  for 
having  shed  a  few  tears  over  the  unhappy."  During  his  brief 
captivity,  he  thought  of  nothing  save  Lucile  and  their  child. 
He  spent  his  days  in  writing  her  the  most  touching  letters — 
which  still  exist,  with  the  traces  of  his  tears — and  in  watching 
her  in  the  gardens  below.  After  his  condemnation  it  was  still 
of  her  fate  that  he  thought  :  happy,  even  in  his  misery,  not 
to  suspect  what  that  fate  would  be.  He  died  clasping  a  lock 
of  her  hair,  and  uttering  the  name  of  Lucile.  His  blood  still 
stained  the  revolutionary  scaffold,  when  the  prisoners  whom  he 
had  left  in  the  Conciergerie  beheld  his  widow  appear  amongst 
them.  Pale  and  drooping,  but  still  surpassingly  beautiful  even 
in  her  agonising  sorrow,  she  looked  like  one  bowed  down  by  an 
overwhelming  calamity,  and  to  whom  the  grave  alone  could 
yield  repose.  The  prisoners  gazed  on  her  as  she  wandered 
over  the  prison  with  her  unsettled  looks,  or  sat  apart  sad  and 
desolate,  and  they  felt  that  for  her  at  least  it  would  be  well 
to  die.  Gentle  to  the  last,  notwithstanding  the  bitterness  of 
her  grief,  she  endeared  herself  to  all.  She  shunned  no  one, 
but  avoided  consolation.  She  consorted  chiefly  with  a  young 
nun,  who,  on  the  opening  of  the  revolution,  had  left  her  con- 
vent and  married  Hebert,  the  infamous  author  of  the  "Pere 
Duchesne."  Before  he  perished  himself,  Camille  Desmoulins 
had  by  his  sarcasms  ruined  Hebert,  and  brought  him  to  the 
scaffold. 

The  widows  of  the  two  foes  now  met  in  the  court-yard  of 
the  prison,  and,  sitting  down  on  the  same  stone,  wept  together 
over  their  misfortunes.  The  widow  of  Hebert  foresaw  her 
fate,  but  thought  that  Lucile  Desmoulins,  so  innocent  and  so 
pure,  could  not  be  condemned.  "  You  are  happy,"  she  often 
said  to  her ;  "  there  is  nothing  against  you  :  you  will  be 
acquitted."  Lucile  knew  this  was  impossible :  "  They  will 
kill  me  as  they  have  killed  him,"  was  her  answer ;  "  let  them  : 
I  know  the  blood  of  woman  has  never  been  shed  in  vain. " 


222  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

She  heard  her  condemnation  with  serenity,  and,  like  most  of 
the  victims  of  that  disastrous  period,  attired  herself  in  white 
to  go  to  the  scaffold.  She  preserved  a  cheerful  bearing,  con- 
versing with  her  companions,  and  particularly  with  the  widow 
of  Hebert,  as  she  went  along.  Her  courage  and  her  youthful 
beauty  filled  all  those  who  gazed  on  her  with  admiration 
and  sorrow.  "  How  beautiful  she  looks  !  what  a  pity  ! "  were 
the  exclamations  which  arose  upon  her  path.  At  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold  she  tenderly  embraced  the  widow  of  Hebert,  bade 
her  other  companions  farewell,  and  submitted  to  her  fate  with 
meek  resignation.  A  beautiful,  touching  victim  of  woman's 
holiest  feelings — compassion  and  love. 

The  efforts  Camille  Desmoulins  had  made  to  stay  the 
course  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  seemed  only  to  accelerate  its 
progress.  Whole  generations  were  swept  away  at  once.  The 
virtuous  Malesherbes,  then  more  than  eighty  years  of  age,  the 
courageous  defender  of  Louis  XVI.,  the  humane  minister 
whose  first  act  of  power  had  been  to  deliver  prisoners  unjustly 
detained,  was  cast  into  prison,  with  his  sister,  his  daughter, 
his  son-in-law,  his  grand-daughter  and  her  husband,  M.  de 
Chateaubriand,  brother  of  the  late  celebrated  author.  The 
cheerful  serenity  of  Malesherbes,  and  the  devotedness  of  Ma- 
dame de  Rosambeau,  his  daughter,  excited  the  admiration  of 
all  the  prisoners  in  the  Conciergerie,  where  this  family 
were  confined.  Madame  de  Rosambeau  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  every  earthly  object  save  her  aged  father.  As  the 
family  proceeded,  with  other  prisoners,  to  the  tribunal,  they 
met  M.  de  Sombreuil — who  had  been  reincarcerated — leaning 
on  the  arm  of  his  daughter.  The  first  time  this  heroic  girl 
had  appeared  before  the  other  prisoners,  every  look  became 
fixed  upon  her  and  filled  with  tears.  On  beholding  her  now, 
Madame  de  Rosambeau  observed — "  You  have  had  the  glory 
of  saving  your  father  ;  I  shall  have  the  consolation  of  dying 
with  mine." 

Amongst  those  who  shared  the  fate  of  the  Malesherbes 
family,  were  two  celebrated  political  antagonists,  Chapelier 
and  D'Espreimd,  and   two   ladies  of   the  old  noblesse,  the 


DUCHESS  OF  GRAMMONT.  223 

Duchess  of  Grarmnont,  sister  of  the  minister  Clioiseul,  and 
Madame  du  Chatelet,  widow  of  the  celebrated  Madame  du 
Chatelet's  only  son,  who  had  been  guillotined  a  few  months 
before.  When  these  two  ladies  appeared  before  the  revo- 
lutionary tribunal,  the  haughty  Madame  de  Grammont 
behaved  with  great  firmness  and  courage.  She  was  accused 
of  having  sent  money  and  linen  to  the  queen  after  the  10th 
of  August ;  she  disdained  to  deny  this  honourable  circum- 
stance :  "  I  will  not  purchase  my  life  at  the  cost  of  an 
untruth,"  was  her  only  justification.  Madame  du  Chatelet,  a 
calm,  gentle  woman,  sought  not  to  make  any  defence,  but 
awaited  her  fate  in  silent  submission.  Reckless  of  herself, 
Madame  de  Grammont  thought  only  of  her  friend.  "  That 
you  should  seek  my  death,"  she  passionately  exclaimed, 
addressing  her  judges,  "  since  I  despise  and  hate  you — since 
I  would  have  roused  all  Europe  against  you,  if  I  could — that 
you  should  send  me  to  the  scaffold,  is  only  natural.  But 
what  did  this  angel,"  she  added,  pointing  to  her  friend,  "  ever 
do  to  you  1 — she,  who  always  bore  everything  without  com- 
plaint, and  whose  whole  existence  has  been  marked  by  actions 
of  kindness  and  humanity  1 "  This  courageous  appeal  proved 
vain ;  but  it  was  not  thrown  away  on  the  memory  of  Madame 
de  Grammont :  that  "  Amazonian,  fierce,  haughty  dame,"  * 
over  whose  character  this  one  little  trait  shed  a  noble  and 
generous  light.  On  the  22d  of  April  1794,  Malesherbes, 
bis  family,  the  Duchess  of  Grammont,  Madame  du  Chatelet, 
and  several  other  individuals,  fourteen  in  all,  were  conveyed 
in  two  carts  to  the  place  of  execution.  Madame  de  Rosam- 
beau  supported  her  father,  near  whom  she  was  seated  :  she  em- 
braced him  frequently,  and,  heedless  of  her  own  approaching 
end,  wept  over  his  fate.  When  the  executioner  parted  them 
on  the  scaffold,  she  passionately  exclaimed,  "  Wretch  !  would 
you  murder  my  father  ? " 

A  few  days  after  this  barbarous  execution,  the  Princess 
Elizabeth  appeared  before  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  and 
closed  the  list  of  royal  victims.     The  almost  unearthly  serenity 

*  Walpole. 


224  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

of  her  mind  through  every  sorrow,  her  heavenly  piety  and 
calm  loveliness,  could  not  soften  the  tyrants  of  France.  Free 
from  ambition,  from  intrigue  and  weakness,  she  was  stainless, 
even  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  pronounced  her  condemnation. 
On  the  night  of  the  9th  of  May  she  was  separated  from  her 
niece,  and  scarcely  allowed  time  to  bid  her  farewell.  Her 
trial  began  at  an  early  hour  on  the  10th.  Twenty-four 
persons  were  tried  with  her  ;  amongst  them  was  the  whole 
family  of  Brienne  :  with  the  exception  of  the  cardinal,  who 
committed  suicide  on  being  arrested.  Madame  de  Montmorin 
and  her  son,  and  several  courtiers  and  ladies  of  the  aristocracy, 
were  included  in  the  act  of  accusation  against  Madame 
Elizabeth.  "  She  need  not  complain,"  observed  Fouquier 
Tinville,  alluding  to  this  circumstance ;  "  surrounded  by  this 
faithful  old  noblesse  she  can,  even  at  the  foot  of  the  guillotine, 
still  fancy  herself  at  Versailles."  Madame  Elizabeth  answered 
her  accusers  with  the  calm  dignity  of  her  character.  The 
aspect  of  death  seemed  to  have  made  her  resume  the  pride  of 
rank,  which  she  had  always  discarded  in  life.  On  being 
asked  her  name,  she  replied,  "  Elizabeth  of  France,  sister  of 
Louis  XVI,  and  aunt  of  Louis  XVII.,  your  king."  The 
judge  called  Louis  XVI.  a  tyrant.  An  indignant  flush  over- 
spread the  features  of  the  gentle  princess.  "  If  my  brother 
had  been  a  tyrant,"  she  replied,  "  you  would  not  be  here ;  nor 
should  I  be  judged  by  you  to-day."  She  heard  her  sentence 
without  emotion,  and  serenely  prepared  herself  for  death.  One 
of  the  young  women  condemned  with  her  not  being  provided 
with  a  suitable  covering  for  her  bosom,  Madame  Elizabeth 
tore  her  own  fichu  in  two,  and  gave  her  half.  Such  was  the 
universal  veneration  she  inspired,  that  when  her  hair  was  cut 
off,  the  persons  condemned  with  her,  and  even  the  execu- 
tioners, took  and  shared  it  with  one  another,  like  some  precious 
rebc. 

Amongst  those  who  accompanied  the  princess  to  the 
scaffold  was  the  Marchioness  Crussol  d'Usez  d'Amboise ;  a 
weak,  timorous  woman,  who  could  never  sleep  unless  two 
waiting-women  were  in  the  same  room  with  her,  and  whom 


EXECUTION  OF  MADAME  ELIZABETH.  225 

the  sight  of  a  mouse  or  a  spider  threw  into  agonies  of  fear. 
But  the  aspect  of  death,  instead  of  terrifying  this  frivolous 
being,  made  her  display  a  singular  amount  of  firmness  and  cour- 
age. In  the  cart  which  led  her  to  execution,  she  only  thought 
of  testifying  to  the  princess  her  respect  and  attachment. 

Madame  Elizabeth,  touched  by  this  attention  in  such  a 
moment,  expressed  to  her  the  regret  she  felt  at  not  being  able 
to  shew  her  sense  of  her  kindness.  "  If  your  royal  highness 
would  condescend  to  kiss  me,"  said  the  marchioness,  "  I  should 
think  myself  most  happy."  "  Very  willingly,  marquise,"  re- 
plied Madame  Elizabeth,  and  she  embraced  not  only  her  but 
all  the  condemned  ladies,  as  they  passed  her  one  by  one  before 
ascending  the  scaffold.  Her  turn  did  not  come  until  twenty- 
four  heads  had  fallen  beneath  the  knife  ;  the  executioner  then 
approached  her,  and,  as  her  hands  were  bound,  removed  the 
handkerchief  which  covered  her  bosom.  A  deep  blush  suffused 
the  features  of  the  modest  princess  :  "  In  the  name  of  your 
mother  ! "  she  said,  with  much  emotion,  "  cover  me."  The 
man  silently  obeyed,  and,  without  further  remonstrance,  she 
ascended  the  ladder,  and  submitted  to  her  fate. 

Of  all  the  victims  of  the  revolution,  Madame  Elizabeth  was 
one  of  the  most  guiltless  :  her  sole  crime  was  the  royal  blood 
which  flowed  in  her  veins,  and  the  devoted  attachment  she 
had  ever  felt  for  her  unhappy  brother. 

As  the  Reign  of  Terror  drew  to  a  close,  it  assumed  a  more 
gloomy  and  fearful  character.  The  law  of  the  22d  of  Prairial 
denied  defenders  to  the  accused,  and  authorised  the  jury  to 
convict  without  evidence ;  the  prisoners  were  treated  with 
increased  rigour  :  kind-hearted  turnkeys  were  supplanted  by 
men  who  had  served  as  egorgeurs  in  the  provinces ;  captives 
were  transferred  from  one  prison  to  another,  in  order  to  break 
whatever  social  ties  they  might  have  formed ;  they  were  no 
longer  allowed  to  procure  their  own  food,  but  were  reduced 
to  one  wretched  meal  in  the  twenty-four  hours.  This  repast, 
taken  in  common,  was  called  the  gamelle.  Even  the  mode  in 
which  they  were  summoned  to  death  invested  their  fate  with 
new  terrors. 

VOL.  II.  ** 


226  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

The  sight  of  so  many  victims  daily  conveyed  from  the  vari- 
ous prisons  of  Paris  to  that  last  fatal  one — the  Conciergerie — 
at  length  raised  pity  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  To  avoid 
this,  the  hour  of  removal  was  changed.  The  trampling  of 
horses,  and  the  heavy  rolling  wheels  of  the  long,  covered  carts, 
destined  to  convey  them  away,  now  roused  the  prisoners  at 
dead  of  night.  They  awoke  with  a  start,  and  listened  with 
beating  hearts  to  the  harsh  voices  of  the  turnkeys,  angrily 
resounding  through  every  gallery  and  corridor,  as  they  sum- 
moned the  devoted  ones  to  rise  for  their  last  journey.  Hus- 
bands were  thus  torn  from  their  wives,  mothers  from  their 
children,  without  the  indulgence  of  a  last  farewell.  A  hundred 
and  sixty-nine  prisoners  were  taken  away  in  one  night  from 
the  Luxembourg  alone.  It  was  not  until  the  mournful  pro- 
cession had  left,  until  the  gloomy  prison  had  once  more  relapsed 
into  silence,  that  the  surviving  prisoners  felt,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  they  had  yet  another  day  to  live. 

The  introduction  of  spies  amongst  them  completed  the  misery 
of  the  prisoners.  An  unsuccessful  attempt  which  Lucile  Des- 
moulins  had  made  to  effect  the  liberation  of  her  husband 
was  taken  as  the  proof  of  a  vast  conspiracy  existing  against 
the  republic  in  all  the  prisons.  Informers,  technically  called 
moutons,  were  commissioned  to  detect  this  supposed  plot,  and 
make  up  lists  of  victims.  Whenever  Fouquier  Tinville  wanted 
what  he  termed  a  "  new  batch/'  a  conspiracy  was  invented. 
The  presence  of  these  spies,  who  were  soon  known  by  their 
insolence,  checked  that  freedom  of  intercourse  the  prisoners 
had  hitherto  enjoyed.  Amusements  were  abandoned  ;  all 
gaiety  was  gone ;  the  prisoners  walked  about  their  abode  with 
careworn  aspect  and  looks  of  silent  horror.  They  anxiously 
waited  for  the  papers,  to  read  with  avidity,  not  the  news  for 
which  the  busy  world  might  care, — with  these  they  had  done, 
— but  the  long  daily  list  of  the  guillotined.  Their  fate  when 
they  were  transferred  to  the  Conciergerie  for  condemnation 
was  more  gloomy  still.  They  were  there  herded  in  infectious 
dungeons,  still  stained  with  the  blood  shed  in  the  massacres 
of  September,  and  built  around  the  wide  court-yard ;  a  portion 


CATHERINE  THEOS.  227 

of  which  had  remained  unpaved  since  the  stones  were  taken 
up  for  the  murdered  dead  to  he  buried  on  the  spot  where  they 
had  fallen.  Towards  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  long  proces- 
sion of  the  condemned  descended  from  the  tribunal,  and 
passed,  with  a  firm  step  and  sedate  bearing,  beneath  a  long 
gloomy  vault,  on  either  side  of  which  stood  rows  of  their  fel- 
low-prisoners, watching  them  with  eager  and  morbid  interest. 
Thirty-five  members  of  the  parliament  of  Paris,  thirty-two 
farmers-general,  and  twenty-five  merchants  of  Sedan,  passed 
beneath  that  vault  on  their  way  to  the  scaffold.  Seventy 
victims  were  sent  to  death  at  once,  under  the  pretence  that 
I  hey  were  all  implicated  in  the  imaginary  conspiracy  of  Cecile 
Renaud.  This  young  girl  called  one  morning  on  Robespierre, 
and  asked  to  see  him ;  his  landlady  thought  her  manner  sus- 
picious ;  she  caused  her  to  be  arrested,  and  a  small  knife  was 
found  in  the  basket  she  carried  on  her  arm  :  she  said  that  her 
object  in  asking  to  see  Robespierre  "  was  to  see  the  shape  of 
a  tyrant."  The  knife  found  on  her,  and  this  reply,  were  taken 
as  proofs  of  her  design  to  assassinate  the  Dictator.  Her  parents, 
her  brothers,  old  M.  de  Sombreuil,  the  family  of  Sainte  Ama- 
ranthe,  and  other  individuals,  sixty-nine  in  all,  were  involved  in 
her  ruin.  Madame  de  Sainte  Amaranthe  was  a  witty  and 
beautiful  royalist  lady,  whose  daughter,  more  beautiful  still, 
married  M.  de  Sartines.  They  had  passed  safely  through  the 
worst  part  of  the  Reign  of  Terror,  gathering  around  them  what- 
ever was  left  of  the  once  brilliant  Parisian  world  of  fashion. 
The  advice  of  a  friend,  and  their  own  inclination,  led  them  to 
court  the  intimacy  of  Robespierre,  and  to  become  initiated  in 
the  mystic  sect  of  Catherine  Theos ;  which,  from  his  manifest 
leaning  towards  religious  principles,  he  was  supposed  to 
favour. 

Catherine  Theos,  "the  mother  of  God,"  as  she  called  herself, 
was  a  fanatic  old  woman,  who,  assisted  by  Dom  Gerle,  a  monk 
of  the  Chartreuse,  attempted  to  found  a  sect,  and  foretold  the 
advent  of  a  new  Messiah.  These  visionaries  and  their  disciples 
entertained  the  most  profound  respect  for  Robespierre. 

The  committee  of  public  safety  had  beheld  with  disgust  the 


228  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

fete  which  Robespierre  instituted  in  honour  of  the  Supreme 
Being.  The  extravagant  doctrines  and  strange  ceremonies  of 
Catherine  Theos  gave  them  an  opportunity  of  covering  him 
with  ridicule.  The  old  fanatic  and  her  disciples  were  ac- 
cordingly incarcerated,  as  accomplices  of  Cecile  Renaud, 
whom  they  had  never  seen.  Robespierre,  who  had  displayed 
towards  Madame  de  Sainte  Amaranthe  and  her  daughter  a 
courteous  admiration,  verging  on  friendship,  protested,  but  in 
vain,  against  their  arrest.  They  endured  their  fate  with  courage 
and  resignation.  One  day  Madame  de  Sainte  Amaranthe 
learned,  falsely  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  that  M.  de  Sartines 
had  been  executed  :  going  up  to  her  daughter,  she  said,  "  Your 
husband  is  no  more ;  we  shall  probably  follow  him  to-morrow 
to  the  scaffold  :  no  tears, — this  is  no  time  for  softness, — we 
must  prepare  to  meet  with  courage  an  inevitable  fate."  A 
day  passed,  and  they  were  not  summoned  to  the  tribunal.  At 
eleven  o'clock  on  the  following  night,  an  usher  entered  her 
room,  and  told  her  she  was  wanted  below.  "  And  are  we  not 
wanted  too  1 "  anxiously  asked  her  son  and  daughter.  "  Cer- 
tainly," was  the  reply.  They  threw  themselves  into  the  arms 
of  their  mother,  exclaiming,  in  a  transport  of  joy,  '-Then,  we 
shall  all  die  together." 

They  appeared  before  the  tribunal  on  the  following  day. 
There  they  saw  M.  de  Sartines,  who  still  lived ;  Cecile  Renaud 
and  her  family ;  and  M.  de  Sombreuil,  saved  in  vain  by  his 
heroic  daughter  :  old  Catherine  Theos  had  died  in  her  prison. 
After  a  mock  trial,  the  seventy  victims  were  condemned.  They 
were  lead  to  death  in  the  red  chemise  of  murderers.  This 
garment,  intended  to  disfigure  the  young  and  lovely  women  thus 
barbarously  immolated,  seemed,  as  in  the  case  of  Charlotte 
Corday,  to  heighten  their  beauty.  Exasperated  at  the  courage 
with  which  they  met  their  fate,  Fouquier  Tinville  is  said  to 
have  conceived  the  infamous  project  of  causing  future  victims 
to  be  bled,  and  consequently  weakened  before  execution.  This 
idea  was  never  carried  into  effect.  Shortly  after  this  fearful 
execution,  sixteen  nuns  of  Compiegne  were  guillotined  for 
belonging  to  the  sect  of  Catherine  Theos,  whom  they  had 


THE  NUNS  OF  COMPIEGNE  229 

never  even  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing.  A  kind  subterfuge 
of  the  municipal  authorities  of  Conipiegne  had  led  them  to 
sign,  unconsciously,  their  adherence  to  the  constitutional  oath. 
On  learning  this,  the  nuns  wrote  and  signed  a  solemn  retracta- 
tion of  what  they  considered  a  virtual  apostasy.  They  were  im- 
prisoned, transferred  to  Paris,  and  placed  in  the  Conciergerie 
for  trial.  At  the  bar  of  the  tribunal  their  superior  generously 
endeavoured  to  save  her  sisters  by  taking  on  herself  the  sole 
responsibility  of  their  acts  ;  but  both  tbe  nuns  and  the  judges 
exclaimed  against  this  course.  The  victims  heard  their  con- 
demnation with  serenity  and  joy.  On  the  preceding  clay  one 
of  them,  Mademoiselle  de  Crosy,  had  composed  a  parody  of 
the  Marseillaise,  in  five  verses,  of  which  this  is  the  first  : — 

"  Livrons  nos  coeurs  a  l'alKgresse, 

Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive- 
Loin  de  nous  la  moindre  faiblesse  ! 

Le  glaive  sanglant  est  leve, 

Preparons  uous  a  la  victoire  •, 
Sous  les  drapeaux  d'un  Dieu  mourant, 
Que  cliacun  marche  en  conquerant; 
Courons  tous  volons  a  la  gloire  : 

Ranimons  notre  ardeur — 

Nos  corps  sont  au  Seigneur ! 

MoiltODS, 

Montons  a  l'echafaud,  et  Dieu  sera  vainqueur." 

They  were  sent  to  the  scaffold  on  the  morning  of  the  17th  of 
July.  In  the  cart  where  they  sat  together  they  repeated  the 
prayers  for  the  dying,  and  sang  the  Te  Deum  Laudamus, 
heard  only  in  the  solemn  festivals  of  the  Church.  The  long 
white  robes  and  veils  of  their  order,  their  calm  bearing  and 
sacred  hymns,  their  years,  varying  from  blooming  youth  to 
gray  old  age,  their  resignation  and  innocence,  created  a  deep 
feeling  of  compassion  in  the  crowd.  No  cries,  no  hootings 
rose  upon  their  path  :  a  silence  deep  and  mournful  accom- 
panied them  to  the  guillotine.  At  the  foot  of  the  scaffold  the 
nuns  all  repeated,  in  a  loud  clear  tone,  the  vows  for  which 
they  were  going  to  die.  They  then  began  the  hymn  to  the 
Holy  Ghost —  Veni,  Creator.  Their  superior  had  asked  to  die 
last,   and  the  nuns  passed  before  her  as  they  ascended  the 


230  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

ladder,  still  singing  the  solemn  strain ;  which  was  diminished, 
but  not  interrupted,  with  every  fall  of  the  knife.  When 
fifteen  heads  were  low,  the  aged  superior  delivered  herself 
over  to  the  executioner,  and  perished  with  the  words  of  praise 
and  joy  still  on  her  lips. 

Eight  nuns  confined  in  Port-Royal  gave  up  life  in  the  same 
heroic  spirit.  They  were  accused  of  having,  in  spite  of  the 
prohibitions  to  the  contrary,  continued  to  lead  a  conventual 
life.  "  If  your  laws,"  they  replied,  "  forbid  solitude,  friend- 
ship, prayer,  and  deeds  of  charity,  we  confess  that  we  have 
broken  them."  The  president  called  them  fanatics.  "  Fa- 
natics," they  answered,  "  are  those  that  kill.  We  pray  for  our 
enemies."  The  president  at  first  only  threatened  them  with 
deportation,  and  asked  them  where  they  would  like  to  go. 
They  said  that  they  knew  no  country  so  unhappy  as  France, 
none  which  so  much  needed  their  prayers,  and  all  the  conso- 
lation it  was  in  their  power  to  give.  "  When  people  stay 
here,  it  is  to  die,"  he  significantly  replied.  "  Then  let  us 
die,"  was  their  unmoved  answer.  The  interrogatory,  always 
a  mere  matter  of  form,  speedily  concluded  with  their  condem- 
nation and  death. 

Such  instances  of  calm  heroism,  however  admirable  they 
might  be,  had  ceased  to  astonish.  The  mere  endurance  of 
death  was  nothing  :  so  great  had  the  disregard  of  life  become, 
that  many  women  cried  out  "Vive  le  Roi !"  merely  to  be  sent  to 
the  guillotine.  They  found  death  preferable  to  the  torture  of 
living  in  a  land  daily  stained  with  the  crimes  of  the  evil  and 
the  blood  of  the  just.  The  Polish  Princess  of  Lubomirska, 
the  friend  of  the  Girondists,  seized  with  horror  at  the  scenes 
she  witnessed  in  her  prison,  wrote  to  Fouquier  Tinville  to  ask 
for  death.  It  is  needless  to  say  the  request  was  speedily 
granted.  If  fortitude  in  the  last  hours  of  life  be  a  claim  to 
fame,  the  sages  and  heroes  who  immortalised  the  past  might 
well  have  envied  the  deaths  of  the  most  humble  victims  who 
perished  then.  Composed  and  serene  amidst  the  hootings  of 
the  crowd,  they  seemed  to  repudiate  life  as  unworthy  of  them  ; 
and,  whilst  yet  standing  on  the  threshold  of  erring  humanity. 


INSTANCES  OF  DEVCTEDNESS.  231 

they  already  appeared  environed  with  the  calm  sanctity  of 
death. 

Traits  of  touching  and  sublime  devotedness,  of  superhuman 
courage  inspired  by  love,  illustrate  the  history  of  woman  in 
the  prisons  of  the  terror.  Many  women,  like  the  attendant 
of  Madame  de  Narbonne,  asked  to  perish  with  the  mistresses 
whose  captivity  they  had  willingly  shared.  Many,  when  they 
appeared  before  the  tribunal,  forgot  their  own  fate  in  that  of 
some  beloved  friend.  Reckless  of  herself,  the  Marchioness  of 
ArmentiSres  defended  and  justified  her  friend  the  Princess  of 
Chimay,  with  courageous  though  unavailing  eloquence.  Never 
was  conjugal  affection  more  touchingly  displayed  than  at  the 
close  of  that  age  of  immorality.  The  ex-minister  Claviere, 
implicated  in  the  ruin  of  the  Girondists,  committed  suicide  in 
the  Conciergerie.  His  wife,  on  learning  his  fate,  swallowed  a 
slow  poison,  settled  her  affairs,  and  parted  from  her  children, 
with  a  composure  and  resolve  which  the  prayers  and  lamenta- 
tions of  those  around  her  could  not  disturb.  "  I  am  going  to 
join  him,"  was  her  sole  thought :  a  thought  which  changed 
into  joy  the  bitterness  of  death.  The  young  and  beautiful 
Madame  de  Lavergne,  holding  her  child  in  her  arms,  accom- 
panied her  aged  and  infirm  husband  to  the  tribunal,  in  the 
vain  hope  of  softening  the  judges.  On  hearing  him  con- 
demned, she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  cried  out,  "  Vive  le  Koi !" 
This  was  death,  and  she  knew  it  well.  The  feelings  of  the 
wife  prevailed,  for  a  moment  only,  over  those  of  the  mother. 
"  Is  there  a  mother  here,"  she  asked,  turning  round,  "  who 
will  take  care  of  my  poor  child  1 "  "I  will,"  replied  a  woman 
of  the  people.  She  stepped  forward  and  took  the  child  from 
its  mother's  arms.  Madame  de  Lavergne,  condemned  without 
trial,  was  sent  to  the  scaffold  with  her  husband.  Frequent 
executions  had  not,  at  that  time,  blunted  the  sensibilities  of 
the  crowd,  and  many  voices  cried  out  on  her  passage,  "  Why 
is  this  1  She  has  not  deserved  death  !"  "  Friends,  it  was  my 
fault,"  answered  Madame  de  Lavergne  from  the  cart;  "  I  would 
die  with  my  husband."  Mademoiselle  Gattey,  on  hearing  her 
brother  condemned  also  cried  out,  "  Vive  le  Roi !"  in  order  to 


232  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

be  sent  to  death,  with  him  ;  but  the  judges,  unwilling  to 
gratify  her,  did  not  pronounce  her  condemnation  until  the 
following  day. 

When  old  Marshal  de  Mouchy  was  apprehended,  his  wife 
calmly  said,  "  Since  my  husband  is  arrested,  I  am  arrested  also." 
He  was  soon  summoned  before  the  tribunal.  "  Madame,"  said 
he  to  her,  "  it  is  the  will  of  God ;  you  are  a  Christian  woman, 
I  need  say  no  more."  She  persisted  in  accompanying  him. 
"  If  her  husband  must  appear,"  she  observed,  "  then  she  must 
appear  likewise."  The  aged  pair  stood  together  at  the  bar ; 
the  marshal  alone  was  condemned.  But  when  the  public 
accuser  made  her  remark  this,  Madame  de  Mouchy  replied  in 
an  unmoved  tone,  "  Since  my  husband  is  condemned,  then  I 
am  condemned  also,"  and  she  entered  the  cart,  and  ascended 
the  scaffold  with  him  ;  faithful  even  unto  death. 

The  young  and  handsome  Madame  de  Bois-Berenger  had 
courageously  remained  in  France,  whilst  her  husband  emi- 
grated. She  hoped,  by  not  leaving  the  country,  to  preserve 
her  property  to  her  family.  She  lived  in  great  retirement, 
and  remained  for  a  long  time  ignorant  of  M.  de  B6renger's 
fate.  Orders  were  at  length  issued  for  her  apprehension. 
The  gendarmes  who  came  to  arrest  her  produced  their  war- 
rant, authorising  them  to  seize  on  the  person  of  "  femme  De 
Bois-Berenger,  widow  of  De  Bois-Berenger,  executed  for  con- 
spiracy." Seized  with  sudden  horror,  the  unhappy  woman 
sank  down  in  a  swoon  at  their  feet.  When  she  recovered,  it 
was  to  utter  a  passionate  protest  of  royalism.  She  was  taken 
to  the  Conciergerie,  where  she  found  her  father,  M.  de  Malessy, 
her  mother  and  her  sister.  The  piety,  resigned  sweetness  of 
temper,  and  beauty  of  these  two  amiable  sisters,  made  one  of 
their  fellow-prisoners  compare  them  to  "angels  ready  to  wing 
their  flight  for  heaven."  Madame  de  Berenger  became  the 
nurse  of  all  the  sick  women  in  the  Conciergerie.  Her  father 
fell  ill,  and  partly  owed  his  recovery  to  her  devoted  care.  Her 
chief  task  was,  however,  to  sustain  Madame  de  Malessy's 
drooping  courage.  The  unhappy  woman  looked  on  her  two 
daughters  with  mute,  despairing  glances  :  a  terror,  which  was 


MADAME  DE  BERENGF.fi.  233 

not  for  her  own  fate,  seemed  to  have  taken  exclusive  possession 
of  her  soul.     It  was  Madame  de  Berenger  who  watched  over 
her  with  maternal  solicitude,  who  deprived  herself  of  food  in 
order  that  she  might  not  want,  and  who  surrounded  her  with 
that  tenderness  of  love  which  the  devoted  mother  bestows 
upon  her  child.     The  whole  family  were  summoned  to  the 
tribunal  on  the  same  day.    Madame  de  Berenger  was  not  at  first 
included  in  the  act  of  accusation  ;  she  wrung  her  hands  and 
wept  bitterly  at  the  prospect  of  life.     "When  her  own  act  of 
accusation  came,  she  received  it  with  transports  of  joy.     M. 
de  Malessy  calmly  heard  the  sentence  which  sent  them  to 
death.      Mademoiselle  de  Malessy,  turning  towards  him,  in- 
genuously observed  :  "  My  kind  father,  I  shall  keep  so  close 
to  you,  who  are  so  honest  and  so  good,  that  for  your  sake  God 
will  receive  me,  notwithstanding  all  my  sins."     Madame  de 
Malessy  burst  into  tears.     "  Be  of  good  cheer,"  said  Madame 
de  Berenger,  embracing  her ;  "  we  shall  all  die  together.     You 
need  have  no  regret :  your  family  accompanies  you,  and  your 
virtues  will  soon  be  rewarded  in  the  sojourn  of  innocence  and 
peace."     As  she  returned  with  her  mother,  whom  she  was 
tenderly  supporting,  from  the  tribunal,  Madame  de  Berenger 
perceived,  in  the  gallery  where  other  prisoners  awaited  the 
moment  of  appearing  before  the  judges,  an  old  man  who  wept 
bitterly.     "What!"  said  she,  going  up  to  him,  "your  are  a 
man,  and  you  weep  ! "     Shamed  by  her  arguments,  and  her 
serenity,  he  promised  to  accept  death  in  a  more  becoming 
spirit.     On  reaching  the  room  where  the  toilette  of  the  con- 
demned took  place,  Madame  de  Berenger  cut  off  the  hair  of 
her  parents  and  that  of  her  sister,  and  then  requested  them 
to  perform  the  same  last  office  for  her.     She  supported  and 
consoled  her  mother  to  the  last.     "  Be  of  good  cheer,"  she  re- 
peated ;  "  we  all  die  together." 

Another  lady  named  Madame  Malessy  equally  distin- 
guished herself  by  her  filial  piety.  Her  mother,  Madame  de 
Lachabeaussiere,  was  imprisoned  in  Saint-Lazare  for  having 
concealed  a  proscribed  man.  Madame  Malessy  was  then  a 
captive  in  one  of  the  provincial  prisons.     Notwithstanding 


234  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

her  advanced  stage  of  pregnancy,  she  immediately  asked  to  be 
transferred  to  Paris.  The  request  was  granted.  But  when, 
after  a  long  journey,  the  devoted  daughter  reached  Saint- 
Lazare,  she  found  that  she  could  not  see  her  mother,  who  had 
been  placed  in  secret  confinement.  Despair  affected  her  rea- 
son. She  sat  for  hours  on  the  floor  near  the  spot  where 
Madame  Lachabeaussigre  was  confined,  repeating  unceasingly, 
"  My  mother;  my  unhappy  mother  !"  Notwithstanding  her 
insanity,  she  neglected  no  means  of  adding  to  her  mother's 
comfort.  The  meals  of  prisoners  in  secret  confinement  were 
often  forgotten  by  the  gaolers,  she  accordingly  deprived  her- 
self of  her  own  food,  in  order  to  have  it  conveyed  to  Madame 
de  Lachabeaussiere  ;  and  from  this  task  of  filial  love  the 
threats,  refusals,  and  insults  of  the  gaolers,  could  never  deter 
her.  These  two  interesting  women  survived  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  and  Madame  Malessy  subsequently  recovered  her 
reason. 

Love  found  not  less  devoted  martyrs  than  filial  or  conjugal 
affection.  M.  Boyer  and  Madame  C.  conceived  a  passionate 
attachment  for  one  another  in  the  Conciergerie.  Boyer  was 
one  day  called  before  the  tribunal ;  every  look  became  riveted 
on  his  mistress ;  she  seemed  calm,  and  merely  went  up  to  her 
room  to  write  a  letter.  A  friend  intercepted  the  missive ;  it 
was  addressed  to  Fouquier  Tinville,  and  contained  a  fervent 
confession  of  royalism.  Not  receiving  any  reply  to  this  letter, 
she  wrote  another.  "  I  know  all,"  said  she  to  the  friends  who 
concealed  the  papers  from  her.  Seeing  her  courage,  they  re- 
vealed the  truth  to  her.  M.  Boyer  had  been  tried  and  exe- 
cuted. The  whole  of  that  day  and  the  following  night  she 
spent  in  her  cell  weeping  alone,  and  reading  over  the  letters 
she  had  formerly  received  from  her  lover.  When  mornin^ 
came,  she  placed  them  near  her  heart,  and  attired  herself  with 
great  elegance.  She  was  at  breakfast  with  the  other  prisoners 
when  the  bell  which  announced  the  approach  of  the  com- 
missaries, who  daily  read  the  lists  of  death,  rang  loudly. 
"  They  are  coming  for  me,"  she  joyfully  exclaimed.  "Fare- 
well, my  friends  !     Oh  !  I  am  so  happy  !"     She  cut  off  her 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  MONACO.  235 

hair,  divided  it  amongst  the  prisoners,  gave  a  few  articles  of 
jewelry  to  the  women  present,  and  proceeded  to  the  tribunal 
with  a  light  and  happy  step.  When  Fouquier  Tinville  asked 
her  if  she  were  the  author  of  the  letter  he  had  received  : 
"Yes,  monster!"  she  passionately  replied.  On  reaching  the 
scaffold,  she  merely  exclaimed,  "  It  is  here  that  he  perished," 
and  joyously  delivered  herself  over  to  the  executioner. 

The  beautiful  Princess  of  Monaco,  the  friend  of  Madame 
Necker  and  of  the  Countess  Amelie,  was  one  of  the  last 
victims  of  this  reign  of  blood.  When  the  agents  of  the 
terrorists  came  to  arrest  her,  she  succeeded  in  effecting  her 
escape,  and  in  finding  a  refuge  in  the  house  of  a  friend  ;  but 
the  dread  of  compromising  her  generous  hostess  induced  her 
to  leave  this  asylum.  She  was  soon  recaptured  and  thrown 
into  prison.  On  being  condemned  by  the  tribunal  she  de- 
clared herself  pregnant,  in  order  to  prolong  her  life ;  a  sub- 
terfuge often  resorted  to  by  women  similarly  circumstanced 
On  the  following  day,  however,  she  blushed  at  the  untruth 
she  had  told,  and  wrote  to  Fouquier  Tinville  to  disavow  it. 
She  prepared  for  death  with  great  calmness,  cut  her  hair  off 
with  a  piece  of  broken  glass,  and  asked  her  femme  de  chambre 
for  some  rouge,  "  in  order  "  as  she  said,  "  that  if  she  should 
turn  pale  no  one  might  see  it."  As  the  princess  passed  in 
the  court  of  the  prison,  she  said  to  the  prisoners  whom  she 
saw  there,  "  I  go  to  death  with  the  calmness  of  innocence,  and 
wish  you,  from  my  soul,  a  better  fate."  She  delivered  a 
packet  containing  her  hair  to  one  of  the  turnkeys,  beseeching 
him,  in  the  most  earnest  manner,  to  deliver  it  to  her  children. 
One  of  the  women  condemned  to  die  with  her  betrayed  the 
greatest  grief.  The  princess  spent  her  last  moments  in  en- 
deavouring to  console  her.  "  Take  courage,  my  dear  friend," 
said  she  to  her,  "  it  is  the  guilty  alone  who  ought  to  fear." 
She  perished  on  the  8th  of  Thermidor.  On  the  9th,  the  Reign 
of  Terror  ceased. 

For  some  time  previously  to  this  memorable  event,  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  fear  and  anxiety  had  pervaded  the  prisons 
of  Paris.     The  eleven  thousand  prisoners  considered  their  fate 


236  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

as  inevitable.  Every  day  new  victims  were  snatched  from 
their  ranks  ;  every  day  they  heard  in  the  streets  the  long  lists 
of  the  guillotined.  The  life  they  led  was  so  thoroughly 
wretched  that  they  learned  to  look  upon  its  close  as  a  bless- 
ing. It  was  not,  therefore,  death  itself  they  feared,  but  the 
manner  in  which  death  might  come.  Sinister  words  had  been 
uttered  by  the  terrorists.  "  We  must  have  an  end,"  said  one. 
"  The  prisons  must  be  cleared,"  observed  Henriot,  in  the  court 
of  the  Luxembourg.  From  prison  to  prison  there  spread  a 
rumour  that  the  massacres  of  September  were  soon  to  be  re- 
newed. The  prisoners  had  become  reconciled  to  the  guillo- 
tine ;  but  the  idea  of  the  death  struggle  between  them  and 
their  murderers  filled  them  with  unconquerable  horror.  They 
were  no  longer  allowed  to  see  the  papers  ;  they  knew  nothing 
therefore  of  the  secret  quarrel  between  Eobespierre  and  the 
committees  he  had  governed  so  long.  On  the  morning  of  the 
9th,  the  tocsin  began  to  ring;  the  gaolers  looked  dark  and 
threatening,  and  took  away  all  knives  and  instruments  of 
defence  from  their  prisoners.  Thus  had  the  massacres  of 
September  begun.  Confident  that  they  were  going  to  perish, 
the  prisoners  resigned  themselves  to  their  fate.  During  the 
whole  of  the  day  the  drum  continued  to  beat,  and  the  tocsin 
to  toll.  These  sounds  seemed  more  terrific  still  in  the  hushed 
silence  of  the  prisons.  The  women  had  gathered  together  to 
kneel  in  fervent  prayer ;  priests  gave  their  last  benediction  to 
their  companions,  and,  as  a  warning  of  their  approaching  fate, 
prisoners  repeated  to  one  another  :  "  Friends,  we  are  now  all 
ninety  years  old."  At  five  in  the  afternoon  the  tumult  in  the 
streets  and  the  terror  of  the  prisoners  reached  their  height. 
That  some  terrific  struggle  was  then  going  on,  and  that  the 
result  of  that  struggle  would  be  life  or  death  for  them,  they 
knew.  The  decree  against  Robespierre,  Couthon,  and  Saint- 
Just,  was  shouted  in  the  streets  ;  the  distant  signs  of  their 
relatives  and  friends  filled  the  captives  with  astonishment  and 
uncertainty.  "Was  this  but  a  change  of  tyrants,  or  were  they 
to  hope  indeed  1 

At  length  missives  and   papers  from   without,   purchased 


END  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  237 

from  the  gaolers  at  their  weight  in  gold,  told  the  whole 
truth.  Eobespierre  had  fallen  !  the  Eeign  of  Terror  had 
ceased  !  A  delirious  joy  seized  on  the  prisoners.  They  wept 
convulsively,  and  embraced  one  another  with  transport ;  they 
mourned  for  the  dead;  they  returned  thanks  to  God.  A 
deliverance  so  unexpected,  so  miraculous,  seemed  incredible. 
But  yesterday  they  were  doomed  ;  to-day  they  were  saved. 
They  eagerly  asked  for  details.  How,  through  whom  had  this 
been  done  1  Many  rumours  were  afloat — one  prevailed  over 
the  rest,  "  A  woman,"  they  were  told,  "  a  defenceless  prisoner 
like  themselves,  but  strong  in  the  indomitable  courage  of  a 
generous  heart,  had  from  her  dungeon  overthrown  the  tyrant." 
If  there  was  exaggeration  in  this  rumour,  there  was  also  much 
truth  :  the  surpassing  beauty  and  the  heroism  of  Theresa 
Cabarrus  mainly  contributed  to  the  fall  of  Eobespierre.  He 
fell ;  and  with  him  passed  away,  not  merely  the  Eeign  of 
Terror,  but  also  the  dream  of  republican  freedom  and  great- 
ness which  France  had  indulged  in  at  the  cost  of  so  many 
guiltless  lives. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THERESA  CABARRUS — FALL  OP  ROBESPIERRE — REACTION — 
PAST  AND  ACTUAL  STATE  OF  SOCIETY — MADAME  DE  STAEL 
— CLOSE. 

In  almost  all  the  conspiracies  on  record,  a  woman  will  be  found 
to  have  acted  a  conspicuous  part ;  either  as  the  victim  of  wrongs 
which  the  conspirators  sought  to  avenge,  or  as  the  presiding 
spirit  from  whom  they  derived  their  inspiration.  Women  do 
not  always  stand  on  the  side  of  democracy,  or  of  popular  move- 
ments :  they  are  essentially  conservative,  because  conservatism 
is  the  strength  and  safety  of  their  homes ;  but  they  also  abhor 
tyrants  and  tyranny  :  less  from  reasoning  or  conviction,  than 
from  a  fervent  sympathy  with  the  wronged  and  the  oppressed. 

Such  women  as  Madame  Roland,  who  love  freedom  simply 
for  its  own  sake,  and  are  ready  to  suffer  and  die  for  a  po- 
litical principle,  are  very  rarely  met  with :  for  one  like  her, 
there  are  a  hundred  like  Lucile  Desmoulins ;  courageous 
and  pitying  women,  whose  political  principles  are  written  in 
their  hearts,  and  who  would  rather  perish  with  those  they 
love  than  behold  cruelty  in  cowardly  silence.  It  is  this  feel- 
ing of  compassion,  innate  in  woman's  nature,  that  will  ever 
render  her  dangerous  to  tyrants  and  arbitrary  power.  She 
cannot,  if  she  would,  remain  unmoved.  She  cannot  suppress 
the  indignant  and  passionate  eloquence  with  which  pity  so 
seldom  fails  to  inspire  her  :  an  eloquence  not  the  less  deep  for 
being  native  and  untaught. 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  active  compassion  thus  manifested  by 
women  during  the  Reign  of  Terror  that  rendered  the  oppres- 
sors so  relentless  towards  the  whole  of  their  sex  ;  as  if  they 
felt  instinctively  that  the  beings  whose  hearts  were  ever  open 


^ 


THERESA  CABARRUS.  239 

to  a  generous  and  courageous  pity  ranked  of  necessity  amongst 
their  most  dangerous  opponents.  It  was,  indeed,  a  woman 
who  first  gave  the  signal  of  a  reaction ;  and  another  woman, 
more  fortunate  but  not  more  fearless,  whose  energy  mainly 
contributed  to  the  fall  of  Robespierre. 

This  woman,  the  beautiful  Theresa  Cabarrus,  is  better  known 
as  Madame  Tallien,  who  died  Princess  of  Chimay.  Her  father, 
the  Count  of  Cabarrus,  was  a  French  gentleman  established  in 
Spain,  where  he  married  a  Spanish  lady  of  great  beauty.  By 
her  he  had  several  children ;  amongst  the  rest  Theresa,  who 
was  early  united  to  a  French  magistrate  named  M.  de  Fon- 
tenay.  "Whilst  the  terror  reigned  at  Bordeaux,  this  gentle- 
man, then  proceeding  to  Spain  with  his  wife,  was  arrested  and 
thrown  into  prison.  Madame  de  Fontenay  remained  at  Bor- 
deaux, in  the  hope  of  effecting  her  husband's  liberation.  She 
was  then  very  young,  and  of  such  surpassing  beauty  that 
many  of  those  who  beheld  her  for  the  first  time  were  unable 
to  restrain  an  exclamation  of  wonder.  Her  person  seemed  to 
combine  attractions  the  most  opposite.  The  classic  elegance 
of  her  figure  and  the  regular  beauty  of  her  features  would 
have  reminded  the  beholder  of  the  pure  outlines  of  some  Gre- 
cian statue,  but  for  the  pale  Spanish  complexion  and  hair, 
and  eyes  of  intense  darkness,  which,  with  the  voluptuous  and 
languid  grace  that  pervaded  all  her  movements,  betrayed  the 
daughter  of  a  still  more  fervid  sun.  To  the  irresistible  charm 
of  the  south  she  united  the  wit  and  elegance  of  the  north. 
The  expression  of  her  glance,  of  her  features,  and  especially  or 
her  smile,  is  described  as  having  been  one  of  mingled  kindness 
and  finesse.  Love  always  blended  in  the  admiration  which 
she  ebicited ;  and,  like  all  women  whose  beauty  is  not  that  of 
form  alone,  it  was  her  destiny  to  inspire  passions  as  fatal  as 
they  were  fervent. 

It  was  at  Bordeaux  that  Tallien  first  beheld  Madame  de 
Fontenay.  He  was  then  persecuting  the  Girondists  in  their 
native  province,  and  fulfilling  the  stern  orders  of  the  Conven- 
tion. Tallien  was  not  naturally  cruel — few  are  ;  but  he 
was  void  of  all  principle,  and  had  voluntarily  shared  the  re- 


240  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

sponsibility  of  the  deeds  of  September,  and  of  every  revolu- 
tionary excess.  He  no  sooner  beheld  the  lovely  Donna  Ther- 
esa than  he  became  passionately  enamoured.  He  was  young, 
handsome,  and  all-powerful :  Madame  de  Fontenay  was  frail 
enough  to  accept  his  homage.  Her  husband  was  liberated, 
and  favoured  in  his  retreat  to  Spain.  Theresa  remained  be- 
hind, procured  a  divorce,  and  when  the  space  of  time  exacted 
by  the  French  law  had  elapsed  married  Tallien.  This  latter 
event  did  not,  however,  take  place  until  after  the  9  th  of  Ther- 
midor.  In  the  meantime,  the  beautiful  Spaniard  reigned  with 
her  lover  over  Bordeaux.  Attired  in  a  Grecian  costume, 
which  enhanced  her  wonderful  beauty,  she  everywhere  ap- 
peared in  public  with  Tallien,  carelessly  leaning  on  his 
shoulder,  in  the  attitude  then  given  by  sculptors  and  painters 
to  the  goddess  of  liberty. 

The  mistress  of  the  proconsul  seemed  anxious  to  efface,  by 
the  use  she  made  of  her  power,  the  source  from  which  it 
came.  Generous  and  compassionate  by  nature,  she  beheld 
with  horror  the  reign  of  the  guillotine.  Yielding  to  her  gentle 
influence,  Tallien  became  less  cruel  and  relentless.  Every  day 
his  beautiful  mistress  snatched  new  victims  from  the  scaffold. 
From  the  moment  that  Madame  de  Fontenay  possessed  any 
influence  in  Bordeaux,  few  perished,  with  the  exception  of 
the  Girondists,  whom  Tallien  did  not  dare  to  spare.  There 
was  scarcely  a  family  in  the  city  but  owed  her  the  life  of  one 
of  its  members.  When  executions  which  he  would  not  or 
could  not  forbid  were  to  take  place,  Tallien  carefully  concealed 
all  knowledge  of  them  from  his  siren  and  pitying  mistress. 
He  knew  her  power  and  his  own  weakness  too  well  not  to  fear 
yielding  to  her  tears  and  gentle  entreaties.  A  power  which 
was  never  used  but  for  acts  of  charity  and  goodness  was  not 
likely  to  be  very  severely  stigmatised,  even  by  the  most  rigid. 
In  the  town  which  her  lover  ruled,  and  where,  in  appearance 
at  least,  the  terror  was  to  reign,  Theresa  Cabarrus  soon  received 
the  gentle  and  significant  name  of  "  Our  Lady  of  Mercy!" 

The  leniency  of  Tallien  was  known  and  condemned  at  Paris. 
He  was  recalled  from  his  mission,  and  Theresa,  who  now  took 


JOSEPHINE  DE  BEAUHARNAIS.  241 

liis  name,  was  thrown  into  the  prison  of  the  Cannes,  where  so 
many  priests  had  been  massacred  in  September.  Her  lover 
could  not  succeed  in  procuring  her  liberation  :  she  who  had 
freed  so  many  captives,  and  saved  so  many  victims,  now  pined 
a  prisoner  in  her  turn,  threatened  with  the  axe  and  the 
scaffold. 

In  her  prison  Madame  Tallien  met  the  pious  and  resigned 
Madame  de  Custine,  the  handsome  and  royalist  Duchess  of 
Aiguillon,  and  the  lovely  creole,  Josephine  de  Beauharnais,  the 
future  empress  of  France  :  she  shared  the  apartment  of  the 
two  last-mentioned  ladies.  There  was  but  one  room  and  one 
bed  for  three  women  of  such  different  characters  and  destinies. 
Their  names  may  still  be  found  written  side  by  side  on  the 
walls  of  their  cell,  and  appear  there  with  large  red  stains  of 
blood  left  in  September  1792.  Madame  Tallien  and  the 
Duchess  of  Aiguillon  were,  in  courage  at  least,  kindred  spirits ; 
but  the  weak  and  credulous  Josephine  wept  unceasingly,  and 
spent  the  greatest  portion  of  her  time  in  privately  seeking, 
through  the  aid  of  a  pack  of  cards,  revelations  of  the  future. 
This  was  the  period  of  alarm  in  the  prisons,  when  rumours  of 
a  new  September  were  rife,  and  terrorists  were  heard  to  regret 
the  insufficiency  of  their  spies,  and  to  dwell  on  the  necessity 
of  "  inoculating  "  the  prisons.  The  prospect  of  perishing  in  a 
midnight  massacre  excited  more  indignation  than  fear  in  the 
heroic  soul  of  Madame  Tallien.  She  felt  herself  reserved  for  a 
higher  destiny  :  she  longed  to  break  at  once  the  chain  which 
held  her  captive,  and  bound  all  France  in  its  iron  links.  The 
daring  and  generous  thought  of  overthrowing  a  tyrannic  power, 
was  one  well  likely  to  seduce  a  spirit  that  loved  to  dwell  on 
all  that  was  great  and  striking  in  the  eyes  of  mankind.  From 
her  prison  she  energetically  urged  Tallien  to  save  her — to  widen 
the  breach  between  Robespierre  and  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  and  to  deliver  France  from  the  Reign  of  Terror.  Tallien 
scarcely  needed  her  words  to  urge  him  on  to  prompt  and  de- 
cisive action.  He  was  fully  conscious  of  Theresa's  danger  and 
of  his  own  ;  for  he  belonged  to  the  class  of  men  so  much  hated 
by  the  puritanic  Robespierre,  as  having  brought  into  the  new 
VOL.  II.  Q 


242  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

regime  all  the  corruption  and  profligacy  of  the  old  aristoc- 
racy. 

The  causes  which  produced  the  9th  of  Thermidor  are  now 
well  known  :  it  was  a  division  among  the  tyrants,  not  a  reaction 
in  favour  of  humanity.  Those  who  overthrew  Robespierre  were 
the  most  relentless  of  the  terrorists :  they  never  once  intended 
to  check  the  Reign  of  Terror  itself.  This  thought  may  have  en- 
tered the  generous  heart  of  Madame  Tallien  :  her  lover  thought 
only  of  the  danger  she  ran,  and  of  his  own  head,  then  much 
in  peril.  The  considerations  which  induced  his  associates  to 
act  were  fully  as  selfish. 

Robespierre  has  been,  and  will  ever  be,  most  diversely 
judged.  He  was  certainly  a  man  of  strong  principle,  inflexible, 
severe,  and  self-denying :  in  many  respects  the  Calvin  of  the 
French  revolution,  applying  to  this  world  stern  dogmas,  such 
as  the  Genevese  reformer  dealt  out  for  the  next.  If  the  re- 
generation of  France  from  the  sink  of  immorality  into  which 
she  had  fallen  was  only  to  be  had  at  the  cost  of  human  life, 
Robespierre  was  willing  to  pay  the  price.  A  deistic  democracy 
was  the  ideal  of  his  existence  :  he  was  neither  cruel  nor  im- 
moral ;  but  he  was  cold,  insensible,  almost  passionless,  and  a 
political  pedant.  For  the  same  reason  he  was  uncompromis- 
ing, relentless,  and  almost  inaccessible  to  the  pity  that  far  more 
guilty  men  could  feel.  Their  motives  were  hatred,  thirst  for 
blood,  or  reverjge ;  his  were  centred  in  the  triumph  of  his 
system  :  let  that  prevail,  and  he  would  not  ask  for  one  drop 
of  blood.  It  is  difficult  to  judge  such  characters  fairly.  They 
are  too  often  viewed  as  remorseless  tyrants,  or  as  high-minded 
men.  Those  who  saw  only  his  actions  abhorred  him ;  those 
who  read  his  motives  idolised  Robespierre.  Both  were  wrong. 
No  man  deserves  praise  whose  deeds  and  words  fail  to  agree ; 
no  man  should  be  blamed  unconditionally  when  it  can  be  said 
of  him  that  his  motives  are  earnest  and  high.  Robespierre 
was,  perhaps,  the  most  in  earnest  of  the  political  men  of  his 
time.  He  is  admirably  characterised  by  the  profound  remark 
of  Mirabeau,  "That  man  will  go  far;  he  believes  everything 
he  says."     Rut  though  political  fanaticism  may,  like  the  same 


CHARACTER  OF  ROBESPIERRE.  243 

excess  in  religion,  seek  its  justification  by  pleading  super- 
abundance of  faith,  the  human  heart  instinctively  revolts 
against  doctrines  that  lead  to  such  deeds.  There  are  two 
species  of  fanatics — those  that  kill  and  those  that  die.  The 
former  arc  abhorred,  the  latter  are  blessed  and  hailed  as 
martyrs.  There  is  in  our  own  blood,  freely  poured  forth  for 
truth,  a  regenerative  virtue  which  the  blood  shed  by  our  hand, 
though  in  the  same  holy  cause,  can  never  possess.  Will  pos- 
terity, for  the  sake  of  a  political  principle,  ever  forgive  Kobes- 
pierre  the  deaths  of  his  best  friends — of  Camille  Desmoulins 
and  his  wife,  so  remorselessly  abandoned  and  sacrificed,  lest, 
by  saving  them,  he  should  compromise  his  power,  and  with 
it  the  ideal  of  humanity  towards  which  he  tended  1 

But,  revolting  as  are  even  his  best  qualities,  Robespierre 
still  demands  justice.  Why  throw  upon  him  the  sole  responsi- 
bility of  the  Keign  of  Terror  1  The  men  who  overthrew  him 
were  more  cruel  and  more  guilty.  They  favoured  atheism  and 
profligacy ;  he  was  severe  in  his  morals,  and  religiously  in- 
clined. Let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  he  risked  his  popularity 
and  hastened  his  ruin  in  order  to  check  the  progress  of  atheism, 
and  cause  the  recognition  of  the  Supreme  Being  and  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul.  He  intended  to  arrest  the  progress  of 
bloodshed.  During  the  last  months  of  the  terror,  he  carried 
on  a  secret  struggle  with  that  fearful  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  which  provided  Fouquier  Tinville  with  victims.  For 
six  weeks  before  the  9th  of  Thermidor,  he  ceased  to  attend, 
or  possess  any  influence  over,  its  deliberations  :  yet  it  was 
during  those  six  weeks  that  the  executions  were  most  active  ; 
that  his  friends  the  Sainte  Amaranthes,  the  sixty-nine  com- 
panions of  Cecile  Renaud,  and  the  sixteen  nuns  of  Compiegne, 
were  sent  to  the  scaffold  ;  that  Collot  d'Herbois,  one  of  those 
who  worked  his  ruin,  warned  Fouquier  Tinville  to  manage  so 
that  a  hundred  and  fifty  heads  at  least  might  fall  every  day. 
When  these  men  perceived  that  it  was  Robespierre's  intention 
to  sacrifice  them,  they  hastened  the  crisis,  and  forestalled  him. 
The  most  active,  because  the  most  in  danger,  was  Tallien. 
There  was  every  motive  to  lead  him  to  precipitate  the  outbreak : 


244  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

his  own  safety  and  that  of  the  woman  he  adored.  From  the 
prison  where  she  pined,  the  beautiful  Theresa  communicated 
her  own  energy  to  her  lover ;  incessantly  urging  him  to  over- 
throw Robespierre.  A  few  days  before  the  9  th  of  Thermidor, 
she  found  means  to  write  and  send  him  the  following  letter : — 
"The  administrator  of  police  has  just  left  me:  he  came  to 
announce  that  to-morrow  I  go  to  the  tribunal ;  that  is  to  say, 
to  the  scaffold.  How  different  is  this  from  the  dream  I  had 
last  night :  Eobespierre  was  no  more,  and  the  prisons  were 

open But,  thanks  to  your  cowardice,  no  one  in  France 

will  soon  be  found  to  realise  that  dream."  Tallien  answered  : 
"Be  as  prudent  as  I  shall  be  courageous,  and  keep  yourself 
calm." 

The  9  th  Thermidor  came  :  Robespierre  was  accused  of  aim- 
ing at  dictatorship,  forbidden  to  defend  himself,  outlawed,  and 
on  the  10th  executed  without  trial.  Twenty-two  of  his  friends 
accompanied  him  to  the  scaffold.  The  curses  of  the  people, 
who  had  never  ceased  to  identify  the  reign  of  blood  with  his 
name,  followed  Robespierre  to  the  guillotine.  A  woman  broke 
through  the  crowd,  clambered  up  the  cart  where  he  sat,  and 
holding  herself  by  one  hand  whilst  she  menaced  him  with  the 
other,  passionately  exclaimed  :  "  Monster  !  vomited  out  by  hell 
itself,  thou  art  punished  now.  It  fills  my  heart  with  joy  to 
see  thee  here."  Robespierre  roused  from  his  stupor, — he  was 
severely  wounded,  having  attempted  to  commit  suicide, — 
opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  her.  "  Go,  wretch,  that  thou 
art ! "  she  continued  ;  "  go  to  the  grave  :  go,  and  bear  along 
with  thee  the  curse  of  every  wife  and  mother." 

The  curse  thus  passionately  pronounced  has  clung  to  the 
name  of  Robespierre.  Had  he  overthrown  the  committee 
instead  of  the  committee  overthrowing  him,  the  Reign  of 
Terror  would  have  ceased  as  soon,  and  he,  though  not  less 
guilty,  would  have  left  another  name.  The  terrorists  knew 
not  what  they  had  done,  until  the  intoxicating  joy  of  the 
people  shewed  them  that,  Robespierre  being  gone,  the  tyranny 
upheld  in  his  name  must  likewise  depart.  They  prudently 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  a  reaction  it  was  not  in  their  power 


THE  NUNS  AT  VALENCIENNES.  245 

to  control,  and  threw  the  whole  odium  of  the  blood  which  had 
been  shed  on  Robespierre  and  his  friends.  Although  the 
subsequent  history  of  the  revolution  offers  abundant  proof  of 
their  inhumanity,  their  interested  assertions  have  been  too 
readily  believed 

The  terror  ceased  at  Paris  on  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  because 
there  public  opinion  prevailed  ;  but  its  reign  continued  in  many 
of  the  provinces.  In  the  town  of  Valenciennes  alone  sixty-seven 
victims  perished  for  religious  or  political  motives,  from  the  23d 
of  September  to  the  13th  of  December  1794.  The  religious 
persecutions  which  Robespierre  had  sought  to  check  were 
resumed  with  unabated  vigour.  Several  nuns  of  Valenciennes 
left  France  in  the  beginning  of  the  revolution,  and  established 
themselves  at  Mons,  eight  leagues  from  the  frontier.  When 
Valenciennes  was  taken  by  the  Austrians,  they  returned  to 
their  native  city.  It  fell  once  more  into  the  power  of  the 
French :  the  nuns  imprudently  remained.  They  were  soon 
taken  before  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  and  asked  if  they  had 
ever  emigrated.  They  might  have  escaped,  by  answering  no  : 
but  they  all  preferred  truth  to  life.  On  their  confession  of 
having  left  the  country,  they  were  accordingly  condemned 
and  executed.  Though  thus  imperfectly  displayed  in  the 
provinces,  the  reaction  was  very  strong  in  Paris.  It  mani- 
fested itself  chiefly  in  the  altered  aspect  of  society. 

Never,  perhaps,  unless  at  the  death  of  Louis  XIV,  had  the 
French  social  world  undergone  such  transitions  as  those  which 
were  figured  by  the  political  struggle  of  '89,  the  gloomy 
terror,  and  the  disorderly  reaction  of  Thermidor.  According 
to  Madame  de  Stael,  French  society  remained  in  all  its  splen- 
dour from  1788  to  1791.  The  political  discussions,  which  had 
not  yet  been  changed  into  bitter  quarrels  and  heart-burning 
animosities,  gave  this  brilliant  world  an  interest  hitherto 
unknown.  Everything  was  full  of  animation  and  hope.  As 
the  revolution  progressed,  party-spirit  ran  high,  aristocratic 
society  split  into  faction,  and  was  broken  for  ever  by  the  tide 
of  emigration.  Women  had  a  great  share  in  this  important 
and  ill-advised  movement.     The  aristocratic  ladies,  who  were 


246  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

the  most  vehement  philosophers  and  liberal  in  theory,  could 
not  endure  the  actual  progress  of  equality  and  loss  of  privilege 
by  which  it  was  accompanied.  They  urged  their  husbands, 
brothers,  and  lovers,  to  leave  a  country  which  so  little  under- 
stood its  interests  as  to  contemn  its  ancient  nobility.  When 
their  friends  demurred  and  represented  the  impolicy  of  such 
a  step,  the  women  sent  them  distaffs,  with  the  contemptuous 
intimation  that  these  were  the  only  arms  fit  for  them. 

Stung  by  these  reproaches  the  young  nobles  left  the  land  en 
masse.  The  women,  little  apprehensive  of  danger,  remained 
behind.  Those  who  tarried  too  long  perished  on  the  scaffold  ; 
others,  more  fortunate,  made  their  escape  from  the  country, 
and  filled  the  little  court  of  the  exiled  princes  with  their 
intrigues  and  repinings.  One  old  countess,  addressing  a  circle 
of  nobles,  observed  with  bitter  and  vindictive  triumph  :  "  Mes- 
sieurs, you  richly  deserve  what  has  happened  to  you.  I  fore- 
told the  ruin  of  the  nobility  from  the  moment  I  saw  you 
abandoning  women  like  us  for  girls  of  the  third  estate."  The 
emigration  favoured  the  revolutionary  spirit  in  every  sense  ;  it 
gave  an  access  of  importance  and  power  to  commoners,  and 
threw  the  influence  hitherto  wielded  by  aristocratic  ladies 
into  the  hands  of  women  of  that  "  third  estate "  so  much 
contemned  by  the  old  countess.  Though  sadly  reluctant  to 
leave  her  beloved  Paris,  Madame  de  Stael  departed  at  length 
for  Coppet.  Madame  de  Genlis,  Madame  de  Condorcet, 
Madame  de  Coigny,  Madame  Roland,  Lucile  Desmoulins,  and 
Mademoiselle  Caudeille,  successively  possessed  the  power,  now 
both  political  and  social,  which  was  so  soon  to  pass  away  from 
their  sex.  The  discredit  which  gradually  fell  on  the  Orleans 
party  compelled  Madame  de  Genlis  to  seek  refuge  with  her 
pupils  in  the  army  of  Dumouriez  on  the  frontiers.  Her  hus- 
band, who  had  of  late  affected  to  call  her  "  Madame  Livre," 
remained  behind,  and  perished  with  the  Girondists.  All  the 
tact,  address,  and  ambition  of  Madame  do  Genlis  seconded  the 
intriguing  Dumouriez  in  the  attempted  treason  by  which  that 
general  sought  to  give  to  the  young  Duke  of  Chartres  the 
crown  he  was  not  to  obtain  until  thirty-seven  years  had  elapsed. 


UNIVERSAL  DISTRUST  DURING  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.    247 

"When  the  treason  of  Dumouriez  was  discovered,  he  fled  in 
haste,  accompanied  by  the  prince.  Madame  de  Genlis  and 
the  young  princes  found  a  refuge  in  Switzerland.  They  were 
after  some  time  compelled  to  separate.  Madame  de  Genlis 
wandered  alone  over  all  Europe,  persecuted  by  the  emigrated 
royalists,  who  abhorred  her  very  name.  She  returned  to 
France  under  the  consulship  of  Napoleon,  with  a  temper  no 
little  embittered  by  disappointed  ambition;  but  with  her 
intellect  as  active  as  ever.  She  wrote  a  few  novels  highly 
successful  at  the  time ;  well-nigh  forgotten  now. 

The  rule  of  Mesdames  de  Coigny  and  de  Condorcet  proved 
as  transient.     Madame  Roland  and  Lucile  Desmoulins  paid 
with  their  blood  their  brief  political  sway.      Mademoiselle 
Caudeille,  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  actress,  closely  con- 
nected  with   the    Girondist   leaders,    and   with    Dumouriez, 
escaped  the  general  proscription  ;  though  she  was  coarsely,  and 
even  ferociously,  assailed  by  Marat,  in  his  Ami  du  Feuple. 
But  after,  and  even  before  the  death  of  Lucile  Desmoulins, 
there  was,  properly  speaking,  no  social  world  for  woman  to 
govern.    Paris  seemed  transformed.    Universal  distrust  checked 
all  freedom  of  intercourse.     No  visits  were  paid  or  received. 
The  theatres  flourished,  and  were  always  full,  precisely  because 
society  was  no  more.     Men  took  refuge  from  the  danger  which 
surrounded  every  home,  in  a  place  of  public  resort  where  none 
were  bouud  to  speak.     The  individuals  who  had  belonged  to 
the  elegant  society  of  the  old  regime,  and  who  still  remained 
iu  France,  lived  in  a  state  of  perpetual  apprehension.     The 
most  extraordinary  concessions  were  daily  made  to  fear.     The 
once  pretty  Madame  du  Marchais,  now  Madame  d'Angivilliers, 
and  advanced  in  years,  resided  at  Versailles.    In  order  not  to  be 
inscribed  on  the  list  of  the  suspects,  she  made  a  solemn  offering 
to  the  popular  society  of  Versailles  of  a  splendid  bust  of  Marat. 
She  thus  passed  safely  through  the  reign  of   terror.     Fear 
often  led  to  compliance  more  degrading  still.     The  women  of 
Lyons  did  not  blush  to  wear  earrings  and  brooches  made  in 
the  shape  of  a  guillotine  :  little  guillotines  were  given  to 
children  as  toys  to  play  with.     One  insane  individual,  in  his 


248  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

fervent  admiration  for  the  instrument  of  death,  offered  to  settle 
a  pension  upon  it.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  universal 
dread,  when  the  names  of  the  inhabitants  of  every  house  were 
written  on  the  doorway,  in  order  that  the  tyrants  might  know 
where  to  find  their  victims ;  when  women  were  publicly 
chastised  by  the  poissardes  for  refusing  to  wear  the  tricolor 
cockade,  or  not  paying  adoration  to  the  manes  of  Marat ;  when 
the  kings  and  queens  of  playing  cards  were  effaced  as  danger- 
ous to  republican  institutions ;  when  the  Place  Vend6me,  in- 
habited by  financiers,  was  depopulated,  and  on  every  hotel  of 
the  aristocratic  faubourg  Saint-Germain  might  be  read  the 
words  "  National  Property ; "  it  was  then  that  the  people  were 
ordered  to  rejoice,  and  hold  a  great  fraternal  banquet  in  the 
streets  of  Paris.  Gaily  ornamented  tables  were  spread  out 
before  each  door.  Every  one  brought  down  his  fare,  and 
joined  it  to  that  of  his  neighbour.  The  most  uneasy  en- 
deavoured to  look  delighted.  One  young  girl,  wearied  of 
life,  took  the  opportunity,  at  this  fraternal  banquet,  to  cry  out 
"ViveleKoi!" 

Abject  fear  was  not  the  only  feature  of  these  times.  There 
was  also  heroism  as  great  and  pure  as  has  ever  been  recorded 
in  history.  A  patriotic  enthusiasm,  which  even  the  guillotine 
could  not  subdue,  had  seized  on  the  whole  nation  at  the 
approach  of  the  foe.  Two  hundred  and  fifty-eight  forges 
stood  in  Paris.  Women  sewed  tents  and  coats  for  the  soldiers ; 
the  children  scraped  lint.  The  men  dug  up  their  cellars  for 
saltpetre.  Their  wives  carried  up  the  earth,  and  threw  it  in 
heaps  before  the  doors  of  their  houses.  The  cry  of  "  The  land 
is  in  danger ! "  had  not  been  uttered  or  heard  in  vain. 

It  was,  however,  on  the  frontiers  that  most  heroism  was 
displayed.  There  women  fought  side  by  side  with  their 
husbands  ;  not  for  glory,  but  to  guard  the  sacredness  of  their 
home  and  native  soil.  The  two  sisters  Fernicc  rank  amongst 
the  most  remarkable  and  devoted  of  these  heroines.  Their 
father,  a  private  gentleman  of  property,  headed  a  troop  of  vol- 
unteers. His  two  eldest  daughters,  Felicite  and  Theophile 
resolved  to  assume  male  attire,  and  watch  privately  over  the 


WORSHIP  OF  THE  GODDESS  OF  EEASON.  249 

safety  of  their  parent.  They  did  so  for  a  long  time  un- 
suspected, but  they  were  at  length  detected  by  General  Beur- 
nonville,  who  reported  their  heroism  to  the  Convention.  From 
that  time  they  distinguished  themselves  by  their  daring  valour 
in  almost  every  engagement  that  took  place.  Felicity,  at  the 
risk  of  her  life,  once  delivered  from  the  hands  of  the  enemy 
a  young  and  wounded  officer  named  Vanderwalen.  He  had 
seen  her  for  a  few  moments  only ;  but,  filled  with  gratitude 
and  love,  he  looked  for  her  throughout  all  Germany,  where 
she  had  followed  Dumouriez  in  his  flight.  He  found  her  at 
length  in  Denmark,  married  her,  and  brought  her  to  Brussels, 
where  she  lived  with  him  and  her  sister.  Theophile  did  not 
marry,  and  died  young.  "  She  has  left,"  observes  an  eminent 
judge  of  such  matters,  "  poems  full  of  manly  heroism  and 
womanly  feeling,  and  well  worthy  of  accompanying  her  name 
to  immortality." 

Whilst  women  thus  shed  their  blood  like  men  on  the 
frontiers  of  the  land,  they  sought  to  oppose  their  moral 
influence  to  the  progress  of  atheism  within.  This  was  the 
time  of  the  worship  of  the  Goddess  of  Beason.  Beautiful 
courtesans,  voluptuously  attired,  were  led  in  triumph  to  the 
principal  churches,  placed  on  the  altars,  and  exposed  to  the 
supposed  adoration  of  the  crowd.  The  women  always  shrank 
with  horror  from  these  impious  saturnalia.  It  was  only  by 
threats  that  Chaumette  could  induce  Mademoiselle  Maillard, 
the  actress,  to  take  the  part  of  Goddess  of  Beason  in  the 
cathedral  of  Notre  Dame.  Momoro  compelled  his  handsome 
wife  to  receive  the  same  degrading  honours  in  Saint- Sulpice, 
where  she  is  said  to  have  fainted  away  with  shame.  A  young 
girl  of  sixteen  died  with  grief  and  horror  at  the  impieties  in 
which  she  had  been  compelled  to  participate.  It  is  not  with- 
out reason  that  the  Church  has  bestowed  upon  woman  the 
name  of  "  the  devout  sex."  There  is  a  faith  in  her  soul,  over 
which  reasoning,  or  the  specious  sophistry  too  often  called 
such,  has  no  power.  She  believes  because  it  is  in  her  nature 
to  look  up  to  higher  things  than  this  world  can  give  ;  and  she 
neither  asks  nor  needs  any  proof  beyond  that  in  her  own  heart 


250  WOMAN  IN  FEANCE. 

to  tell  her  that  God  and  providence  are  not  idle  words  of 
human  invention.  This  moral  and  religious  influence  of 
woman  considerably  checked  the  progress  of  atheism  and 
materialism  in  France.  No  inquisition  and  no  laws  could 
prevent  religious  mothers  from  rearing  up  their  children  in  the 
faith  of  God  and  the  contempt  of  man's  authority. 

It  was  chiefly  to  the  religious  principles  he  professed  that 
Eobespierre  owed  the  little  circle  of  admiring  women  whom 
the  atheistic  Hebert  and  Chaumette  ironically  termed  "the 
devotees  of  Eobespierre."  These  ladies,  who  were  often 
religious  royalists,  attached  themselves  to  him  with  a  sort  of 
passion.  Robespierre  liked  the  society  of  elegant  women. 
He  was  a  man  of  cultivated  manners,  and  shrank  from  the 
vulgarity  affected  by  the  other  terrorists.  He  often  promised 
his  cortege  of  female  admirers  to  re-establish  freedom  of  con- 
science and  the  supremacy  of  religious  opinions.  The  fete  of 
the  Supreme  Being  was  but  a  consequence  of  his  principles. 
This  solemn  act  has  been  blamed  and  ridiculed ;  it  is  difficult 
to  see  why.  Atheism  had  been  formally  established.  The 
sacred  name  of  the  Divinity  had  been  impiously  blasphemed 
in  the  churches  dedicated  to  His  worship  ;  schoolmasters  had 
even  been  forbidden  to  pronounce  it  before  their  pupils.  The 
inscription,  "  Death  is  Eternal  Sleep  ! "  had  been  engraved 
over  the  entrance  of  every  cemetery.  Eelatives  could  not 
bury  their  dead  with  the  customary  ceremonies,  but  were 
compelled  to  see  them  thrown  into  the  earth  with  indecent 
familiarity  and  haste.  The  fanaticism  which  was  displayed  in 
the  promulgation  of  atheism  was  as  unrelenting  as  any  which 
ever  disgraced  the  quarrels  of  Christian  sects.  It  was  this 
stain  that  Eobespierre  wished  to  efface  from  the  cause  of  the 
revolution ;  with  which  it  must  not  be  confounded.  The 
fete  of  the  "Etre  Supreme"  exasperated  the  terrorists,  and 
was  hailed  throughout  France  as  the  coining  of  a  new  era. 
The  uninterrupted  bloodshed  by  which  it  was  followed  effaced 
this  impression.  Few  care  to  know  that  of  that  blood  at 
least  Eobespierre  was  innocent :  his  name  has  gone  down  to 
posterity  as  the  type  of  all  the  evil  passions  of  democracy.    Not- 


THE  CONDITION  OF  WOMEN.  251 

withstanding  the  discrepancy  between  his  principles  and  the 
deeds  he  silently  suffered  to  be  enacted,  the  devotees  of 
Robespierre  remained  faithful  to  him  and  to  his  cause.  Several 
sacrificed  their  fortunes  and  their  connexions  to  their  attach- 
ment. One  lady  expiated  her  friendship  for  him  by  a  tedious 
captivity. 

Women  were,  however,  generally  dissatisfied  with  the  new 
part  given  them  in  society  by  the  revolution.  They  had 
little  anticipated  being  reduced  to  comparative  insignificance 
by  the  political  action  of  men.  Such,  however,  was  now  the 
case.  "  What,"  very  justly  asked  Olympe  de  Gouges  of  the 
women  of  her  time,  "  what  are  the  advantages  you  have 
derived  from  the  revolution1?  Slights  and  contempts  more 
plainly  displayed."  It  was  thus  ;  women  had  lost  their  old 
influence,  and  they  had  obtained  nothing  in  return.  Fierce 
political  passions  had  arisen,  strangely  altering  national 
manners.  Elegance  and  chivalrous  respect  for  ladies  had 
vanished  with  the  old  aristocracy.  The  republican  severity 
that  the  new  rulers  of  France  wished  to  introduce  threatened 
to  curtail  still  further  female  privileges.  Olympe  de  Gouges 
boldly  asked  for  equality  of  the  sexes  :  she  made  few  prose- 
lytes, and  was  covered  with  ridicule. 

It  is  often  the  fate  of  a  good  cause  to  suffer  from  the 
premature  efforts  made  in  its  favour.  That  of  woman  may 
rank  among  the  rest.  It  would  be  difficult  to  assert  that  the 
actual  position  of  woman  is  what  it  ought  to  be  :  she  is 
neither  wholly  independent,  nor  yet  wholly  protected.  Political 
equality,  granted  to  her  in  remote  ages,  amidst  barbarous 
nations,  and  still  existing  in  many  savage  tribes,  is  denied  her 
in  civilised  society.  Though  often  exposed  to  poverty  and 
want,  she  is  shut  out  from  the  wide  field  of  exertion  open  to 
man.  It  is  true  she  is  no  longer  the  mere  domestic  drudge 
she  was  once  :  she  has  risen  in  intellect  and  in  power,  and  a 
lady's-maid  is  now  more  learned  than  many  a  princess  of  yore. 
There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  women  will  not  continue 
to  progress  with  society  itself.  If  they  do  not,  it  will  be  their 
own  fault.     When  they  have  won  their  place,  they  will  have  it 


252  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

without  effort,  and  by  the  natural  course  of  events.  Olympe 
de  Gouges  and  her  partisans  were  too  impatient:  they  at- 
tempted  to  seize  at  once  on  that  which  time  alone  could  be- 
stow :  they  sought,  more  imprudently  still,  to  settle  how  the 
great  change  should  take  place,  and  to  give  laws  to  futurity. 
If  there  is  one  folly  beyond  all  others  in  legislators,  reformers, 
and  theorists,  it  is  the  attempt  to  fasten  their  own  ideas  of 
truth  and  right  on  their  descendants.  The  leading  principle, 
when  it  happens  to  be  a  true  one,  posterity  generally  retains  ; 
but  the  form  according  to  which  that  principle  is  promulgated 
it  seldom  or  never  adopts,  because  it  is  the  form  of  a  past  age 
unsuited  to  present  wisdom.  Putting  it  aside,  with  a  kindly 
smile  at  bygone  presumption,  posterity  just  chooses  a  path  of 
its  own. 

Such  were  a  few  amongst  the  reasons  which  caused  the 
failure  of  Olympe  de  Gouges.  Had  she  been  more  gifted,  she 
might  have  thrown  a  greater  charm  over  her  cause  ;  she  could 
not  have  rendered  it  more  successful.  Time  must  do  its  own 
work.  Women  far  inferior  to  Olympe  took  up  the  same 
strain  when  she  was  gone.  A  handsome  actress,  named  Rose 
Lacombe,  whom  Chaumette  called  "  dangerous  and  eloquent," 
soon  headed  the  female  clubs  founded  by  Olympe  de  Gouges. 
Eloquent,  but  cynical  in  her  language,  Rose  Lacombe  acquired 
great  ascendency  over  the  degraded  women  who  made  insur- 
rections, and  disgraced  the  Convention  by  the  cries  and  tumult 
they  constantly  raised  during  its  sittings.  Though  insolent 
and  tyrannical  to  a  singular  excess,  Rose  Lacombe  was  not 
cruel :  she  often  interceded  for  victims ;  but  her  power  was 
limited,  as  may  be  concluded  from  the  fact  that  two  of  her 
lovers  were  guillotined.  When  the  female  clubs  were  closed, 
in  1793,  she  sank  into  complete  obscurity.  The  power  of 
such  women  could  not  endure  beyond  the  excesses  from  which 
it  had  arisen.  It  disappeared  when  the  Reign  of  Terror 
vanished,  and  society  resumed  its  rights. 

When  the  first  feeling  of  astonishment  created  by  the  9th 
of  Thermidor  had  subsided,  French  gaiety,  which  had  prevailed 
in  the  prisons  in  spite  of  the  guillotine,  now  trifled  as  recklessly 


SOCIETY  IN  PARIS  AFTER  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.      253 

over  the  gloomy  past.  The  share  which  Madame  Tallien  had 
had  in  the  fall  of  Eobespierre  was  soon  known  and  magnified  : 
the  enthusiasm  felt  for  her  displayed  itself  in  the  theatres, 
where  she  frequently  appeared,  by  loud  bursts  of  applause.  She 
became  the  queen  of  Paris,  and  ruled  gracefully  over  the  most 
promiscuous  society  France  had  yet  witnessed.  Men  of  the 
lowest  class,  enriched  by  lucky  speculations,  rose  into  sudden 
importance ;  fervent  royalists,  who  had  vanished  whilst  the 
guillotine  held  sway,  now  suddenly  came  forth,  as  if  from 
underground.  A  good  citizen  had  a  valuable  cook,  an  amnesty 
is  proclaimed,  and  he  suddenly  discovers  that  he  has  been  at- 
tended by  a  marchioness  in  disguise,  who,  to  his  infinite  regret, 
now  gives  him  warning  ;  ladies  who  had  turned  shepherdesses 
for  safety's  sake,  fearful  lest  they  should  be  detected  by  the 
whiteness  of  their  hands,  resume  their  rank  and  aristocratic 
tone  :  disdaining  not,  however,  to  seek  for  influence  through 
republican  representatives  of  the  people,  who  show  themselves 
nothing  loath  to  be  sued  by  handsome  ci-devants.  The  grave 
old  hotels  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  slowly  begin  to  fill ; 
finance  reigns  in  the  Chausse'e  d'Antin.  The  dead  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror  are  scarcely  cold  in  their  unanointed  graves, 
when  their  friends  give  balls,  at  which  none  but  near  relatives 
of  victims  can  dance.  These  "  bals  des  victimes"  have  great 
success.  The  poor  are  starving,  but  the  theatres  thrive,  and 
gaming-tables  are  crowded  in  rich  saloons.  Society  is  so  im- 
perfectly re-established,  that  no  private  balls  are  given  :  they 
are  all  public,  and  to  these  even  the  most  exclusive  must  go. 
Divorce  has  become  frequent  and  easy.  "Women  change 
their  names  with  wonderful  rapidity  :  attired  in  a  voluptuous 
Grecian  costume,  with  a  red  shawl,  fashionable  since  the  red 
chemise  of  Charlotte  Corday,  and  hair  cropped  close  "  a  la 
sacrifice,"  they  throng  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries.  A  freedom 
and  familiarity  of  manner,  unknown  to  the  old  regime,  mark 
this  new  world  :  the  language  itself  is  altered  :  the  ear  has 
become  two  much  accustomed  to  the  style  of  the  Halles. 
Licence  is  as  strong  as  of  old,  but  it  is  far  more  gross  and 
offensive  :  profligate  books  abound.     The  revolutionary  fever 


254  WOMAN  IN  FRANCE. 

has  subsided  :  blood  is  no  longer  shed,  but  corruption  pre 
vails  :  the  nation  has  not  benefited  much  by  the  change. 

It  is  over  this  world  the  beautiful  Madame  Tallien  reigns. 
She  is  idolised  by  the  young  men,  with  hair  plaited,  and 
turned  up  a-  la  victime,  green  cravat,  and  crape  bound  round 
the  arm,  who,  with  stout  sticks  in  their  hands,  fill  the  Palais 
Royal,  singing  the  "ReveilduPeuple  :"  these  pass  by  the  vari- 
ous names  of  Merveilleux,  Incroyables,  Muscadins,  or  Jeunesse 
Dor6e  of  Freron.  Freron,  once  the  most  sanguinary  of 
Terrorists,  is  now  suddenly  transformed  into  a  vehement  re- 
actionary :  the  mission  of  this  "golden  youth"  is  to  insult 
and  oppress  every  gloomy-looking  Terrorist  he  may  meet  in 
the  street.  Thus  the  victims  of  tyranny  understand  freedom 
when  their  turn  is  come.  Hidden  partisans  of  the  Girondists 
come  forward  every  day  :  Louvet,  now  married  to  his  Lodoiska, 
reappears  in  the  Convention  ;  but  it  is  Tallien  and  the  Ther- 
midoriens  who  reign  supreme.  The  old  conventionalists  who 
.have  aided  in  the  overthrow  of  Robespierre  begin  to  sigh,  and 
think  they  might  have  done  better. 

Madame  Tallien  employed  all  her  tact  in  mollifying  these 
subdued  Mountaineers  :  "  You  are  so  good,  with  all  your 
abruptness  of  manner,"  she  soothingly  observed  to  stern  Le- 
gendre.  "  Your  heart  is  so  generous,"  she  said  to  Merlin  de 
Thionville.  "  You  have  become  the  Achilles  of  honest  people," 
was  the  remark  the  siren  addressed  to  the  handsome  and 
profligate  Barras  :  ex-noble  and  ex-terrorist,  now  her  devoted 
admirer,  never  calling  her  but  Aspasia,  and  not  unwilling,  it  is 
said,  to  play  the  part  of  Pericles. 

But  these  gentle  arts  did  not  succeed  equally  well  with  all. 
Some  of  the  Terrorists  consented  to  appear  in  Madame  Tal- 
lien's  drawing-room,  and  mingle  with  the  fashionable  assem- 
blage gathered  there  ;  but  many  held  sternly  aloof  from  the 
woman  whom  they  contemptuously  called  the  Cabarrus,  and 
attacked  her  in  the  Convention  itself.  Tallien  was  at  length 
obliged  to  come  forward  to  justify  her,  and  publicly  acknow- 
ledge her  for  his  wife.  In  society  the  defence  of  Madame 
Tallien  was  warmly  taken  up  by  the  Thermidorien  army  of 


MADAME  TALLIEN  AND  THE  TEKKOKISTS.  255 

young  men  formed  under  her  auspices  and  those  of  her 
friend  Josephine  de  Beauharnais.  This  army  of  Muscadins 
amounted  to  two  or  three  thousand  ;  the  young  men  who  re- 
fused to  join  it  were  inevitably  disgraced  with  all  the  women. 
Their  exploits  were  at  first  confined  to  the  breaking  of  Marat's 
busts  in  the  public  places  ;  increasing  in  boldness,  they  com- 
pelled the  Jacobins  to  disperse,  and  shut  up  their  famous 
club.  The  keys  were  brought  to  Madame  Tallien,  who,  shew- 
ing them  in  triumph  to  her  friends,  laughingly  said,  "  You  see 
it  was  not  so  difficult." 

The  generous  and  humane  influence  of  Madame  Tallien 
prevented  the  Parisian  reaction  from  taking  a  sanguinary 
form  ,  but  in  the  provinces,  where  her  power  did  not  extend, 
it  assumed  an  aspect  almost  as  revolting  as  that  of  the  Eeign 
of  Terror.  Terrorists  were  daily  assassinated  in  the  streets 
of  Lyons  :  seventy  prisoners  were  in  one  day  massacred  or 
burned  in  their  prison  :  eighty  perished  at  Marseilles.  Simi- 
lar scenes  disgraced  almost  every  town  which  had  suffered 
under  the  previous  tyranny.  Societies  known  as  the  "  Children 
of  the  Sun,"  or  "  Companies  of  Jesus,"  were  organised  through- 
out the  south,  for  the  purpose  of  plundering  and  killing  the 
foes  before  whom  all  had  cowered  in  the  days  of  their  power. 

As  events  progressed,  the  influence  and  popularity  of 
Madame  Tallien  somewhat  subsided.  Tallien,  leaving  her  in 
Paris,  proceeded  to  Brittany,  and  distinguished  himself  by  his 
cruelty  in  the  tragedy  of  Quiberon.  "  Oh,  why  was  I  not  there ! " 
exclaimed  Madame  Tallien,  in  despair  at  what  her  husband 
had  done  :  she  felt  and  knew  that  Tallien,  harsh  as  he  was, 
could  never  have  resisted  her  entreaties. 

The  revolution  was  then  in  the  last  convulsions  of  its  brief 
existence.  Koyalist  conspiracies  and  ultra-democratic  move- 
ments marked  the  last  years  of  its  being ;  the  government 
became  weak  and  corrupt :  its  vigour  and  earnestness  seemed 
gone  with  the  Jacobins.  Whatever  may  have  been  their 
errors  or  their  crimes,  they  were,  at  least,  the  men  of  the 
revolution.  When  they  disappear  from  the  scene,  events 
Reem  to  become  insignificant  and  degraded,  like  the  men  at 


256  WOMAN  IN  FKANCE. 

the  head  of  affairs,  until  Bonaparte  appears  to  open  the  his- 
tory of  a  new  era.  Barras,  voluptuous,  insolent,  and  despotic, 
one  of  the  five  directors  who,  since  1795,  governed  France, 
held  a  sort  of  court  in  the  Luxembourg;  another  director, 
Lareveillere  Lepeaux,  attempted  to  establish  a  deistic  faith, 
called  Theophilanthropia,  of  which  the  principal  observances 
were  offerings  of  flowers  to  the  Divinity  ;  a  third  director, 
Neufchateau,  presided,  with  liis  wife,  over  a  little  literary 
circle.  The  few  individuals  who  remained  of  the  old  society 
looked  on  this  new  state  of  things  with  disgust.  Even  they 
were  not  what  they  once  had  been.  Old  Madame  d'Angivil- 
liers,  attired  in  fashions  thirty  years  old,  gathered  a  few 
literary  friends  around  her,  and  gave  two  dinners  a  week — 
one  to  her  profane  acquaintances,  and  the  other  to  her  con- 
fessor— in  a  close  room  filled  with  flowers  and  essences,  by 
which  the  guests  were  almost  stifled.  These  little  absurdities, 
joined  to  others  not  mentioned  here,  left  the  native  goodness 
of  her  heart  undisturbed.  It  was  discovered  at  her  death 
that  she  maintained  no  less  than  thirty-four  families  of  Ver- 
sailles. 

The  only  woman  who  could  in  reality  represent  the  ele- 
gance and  good-breeding  of  the  past,  united  to  the  daring 
genius  of  the  new  era,  was  Madame  de  Stae'l.  As  soon  as 
events  permitted  her,  she  left  Coppet;  where,  during  the 
whole  time  of  the  Beign  of  Terror,  she  only  wrote  one  work  : 
an  eloquent  and  unavailing  defence  of  Marie  Antoinette. 
She  came  to  Paris,  and  entered  with  ardour  into  the  political 
contests  of  the  times.  Her  saloon  was  thronged  by  the 
eminent  men  of  every  party  ;  two  men  partly  owed  their 
elevation  to  her  influence  :  Talleyrand  and  Benjamin  Con- 
stant. The  ambition  of  Madame  de  Stael  was  worthy  of 
her  generous  character.  She  wished  to  consolidate  the  repub- 
lican government  by  conciliating  the  parties  at  variance,  and 
inducing  them  to  act  in  concert.  In  this  womanly  task  she 
unhappily  failed.  The  royalists  would  yield  none  of  their 
hopes  for  the  future ;  the  republicans  scorned  to  profess  the 
least  repentance  for  the  past;  the  directors  remained  aloof; 


NAPOLEON  AND  MADAME  DE  STAEL.  2.57 

the  so-called  moderates  shewed  themselves  as  irreconcilable 
as  the  rest.  Whilst  all  parties  thus  persisted  in  their 
obstinacy  Bonaparte  stepped  forward,  seized  on  the  power* 
and  crushed  them,  and  the  freedom  which  they  had  pur- 
chased with  years  of  blood,  but  knew  not  how  to  preserve  or 
defend. 

Next  to  intellectual  and  independent  men,  Bonaparte 
detested  intellectual  and  independent  women.  He  liked 
talent,  but  only  such  talent  as  he  could  control.  Madame  de 
Stael  soon  became  odious  to  him.  He  especially  resented  the 
freedom  of  discussion,  wdiich  she  loved  herself,  and  en- 
couraged in  all  those  who  came  near  her.  He  wanted  to 
consider  literature  and  art  as  abstract  principles,  and  felt 
irritated  to  perceive  their  close  connexion  wTith  every  question 
of  the  day.  The  attempt  he  made  to  silence  Madame  de 
Stael  shews  how  imperfectly  Napoleon  understood  her  high 
and  independent  character.  "What  does  she  want1?"  he 
impatiently  observed  to  one  of  her  friends  ;  "  will  she  have 
the  two  millions  the  state  owes  to  her  father  1 "  "  The  ques- 
tion is  not,  what  I  want,"  said  Madame  de  Stael,  when  this 
was  repeated  to  her,  "but  what  I  think."  Their  mutual 
enmity  soon  rose  high.  Napoleon  compelled  Madame  de 
Stael  to  leave  Paris  and  Parisian  society,  which  she  idolised ; 
but  he  could  not  subdue  her  spirit ;  and  in  that  long,  and  for 
him  disgraceful  struggle,  it  was  still  the  woman  who  triumphed. 
In  the  courts  and  select  society  of  every  land  of  her  exile 
Madame  de  Stael  carried  her  resentment  with  her.  Every- 
where she  eloquently  declaimed  against  the  despotism  of 
Xapoleon,  or  mercilessly  ridiculed  the  theatrical  pageantry  of 
his  court.  There  were  few  important  epochs  in  his  reign, 
when  the  emperor  was  not  made  to  feel  the  power  and 
sarcasms  of  the  woman  of  genius  whom  he  had  so  unjustly 
and  imprudently  contemned.  ^ — - * 

J  With  this  woman,  the  greatest  and  most  gifted  in  intellect 
her  sex  has  yet  produced,  closed  the  social  and  political  power 
of  women  in  France  during  .the  eighteenth  century.  Let  us 
look  Wilf  and  9,p.p.  the  part  tliey__cj_itirtPrl    flnrin^  t.luit— ^v^r^ 

-"""VOlTii.  R 


258 


W<  (MAN  IN  FRANCE. 


I 


memorable  age.  .Mjdaiii£-xL«r4Iaiii&jmd_^b^^ 
spiracy.  voluptuous  Madame  de  la  Verrue^and  intriguing^Ia- 
dajne  de_Tericin,  reappear  before  tis  with  the  profligate  days 
of  the/regency  J  thov  add  to  itscteep"  corruption :  whilst. 
r.liastpifer'-tT^'pp.nitnnpe,  sorrowful  Mademoiselle  Ai'sse  dies, 
silently  asserting,  though  she  knows  it  not,  the  undying 
'streTigTEJfwoinan's  faith  and  purity"  The  name  ot  learned, 
Madame  du  Chatelet  remains  assocIaEed  with  that  of  Voltaire 
and  his  cold  philosophy.  Madame  de  la  Popeliniere,  graceful 
and  elegant  as  she  is,  is  only  the  protectress  of  that  degraded 
art  which  suits  a  degraded  age,  when  four  sisters  became  the 
mistresses  of  a  king.     The  haughty  favourite,   Madame  de 

mpadour,  has  no  power  beyond  that  political  power  she 
wrings  from  her  lover.     The  philosophic  Madame  d'Epinay  ; 
the  good-natured  Madame  Geofjnn~T~^fa^^[e^du   Deffand, 
s elfi sh.  causticpaiid  erm«yt?e~7~and_jrapa 
Lespinalise7^vith_j>o_jni^^  generous  and  ^ue~iiriHe,r 

•e^ule^ociety^gnder  Toul£XV. ._  The  abandoned 
oTd  king  dies  -Louis  XVI.,  young7  pure,  and  weak,  ascends 
the  throne  to  reap  the  thorns  his  grandfather  has  sown. 
Women  still  govern  society :  Marie  Antoinette,  the  gay  andx 
imprudent  queen,  t.lipfVlPvpr  pnrl  supple  Madame  de  Genlis, 
Madame  JNecker,  sedate  and  grave^  have  their  day^ijut  this 
empty — world  jg  paaaJBg^fji^frway.  Thesto^m^hichjhas 
gnthrrrd  thrnnghj^ritiji'ir^  hrnnkfi  forth.  In  that  new  con- 
test, destined  to  ruin  her  power,  woman  still  takes  an  active 
part.  She  rules  parties,  detends  a  monarchy  with  Marie' 
Ant.miTpff.P_,  op  fninukTprppiihli^.  with  Madame  Poland.  We 
behold  hef~~avenging  nntr.ao-edjmmnnity  under  the  form  of 
Ch^lotte~T!or7fciy7~ti!!l^m1ti^Triftn  how  tp  suffer  and  die  in 
every  prison  and  on  every  scaffold  ;  overthrowing  the  whole 
fabric  of  tyranny  with  the  generous  Madame  Tallien.  and 
defen.f1ing  the  freedom  of  thought  with  the  ffiftod  daughter  of 
NTpcl-pr. 

Profligacy,  scepticism,  daring  wit,  struggles  of  monarch 
and  people,  terror  and  reaction,  would  indeed  have  existed 
without   her;  but  they  could   not  have  been  what  they  are 


CONCLUDING  REFLECTIONS.  259 

now  in  the  history  of  that  age,  had  woman  remained  inactive 
and  apart.  If  she  did  not  do  more  good,  let  it  be  remem- 
bered that  her  power  was  conditional  :  it  was  confined  within 
fixed  limits,  and  submissive  to  that  spirit  of  the  times  which 
both  men  and  women  obeyed.  Yet  it  is  sad  to  reflect  how 
much  that  could  have  been  effected  was  left  undone.  Morals 
might  have  been  preserved  more  pure,  and  their  purity  is 
woman's  own  peculiar  care ;  faith  need  not  have  fallen  so 
low ;  a  spirit  of  charity  and  peace  might  have  been  diffused 
instead  of  one  of  bitterness  and  strife.  The  passionate  im- 
pulse which  precipitated  France  in  her  career  was  partly 
owing  to  women  :  had  they  tempered  instead  of  accelerated 
the  fever  of  the  day,  so  many  dark  and  mournful  pages  need 
not  have  been  found  in  the  history  of  their  country.  As  it 
was,  their  part  was  still  great  and  striking.  They  gave  more 
grace  to  wit,  more  daring  to  philosophy,  more  generosity  to. 
poThiSai~contests,  and  more  heroism  to  defeat  and  death. 
For"  those  who  know  how  to  look  beyond  the  mere  surface  of 
history,  the  action  of  woman  in  France  during  the  eighteenth 
century  will  not  soon  be  forgotten.  She  appears  in  that  age 
— the  most  remarkable  since  that  of  the  Reformation — con— ^ 
nected  with  every  important  question.  "^Tebehold  her  giving 
a  stronger  impulse  to  literature,  aiding  the  development  of 
philosophy  and  thought  ;  and,  like  man,  earnestly  seeking, 
through  all  the  mists  and  errors  of  human  knowledge7~to 
solve  the  great  social  and  political  problems  which  still 
agitate  najn  our  day  :  the  legnnyoTilIe  past  to  Iheiirtiirer 


END  OF   VOL.    ||. 


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